


Differences

by 41d3n



Series: Transitions [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Episode AU: s03e01 Smith and Jones, Episode AU: s03e02 The Shakespeare Code, Episode AU: s03e03 Gridlock, Episode: s03e01 Smith and Jones, Episode: s03e02 The Shakespeare Code, Episode: s03e03 Gridlock, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, trans masc!Rose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/41d3n/pseuds/41d3n
Summary: The Doctor and Ryan start new adventures, despite them both still healing. They make new friends along the way, and encounter old enemies. But will they finally realise what they both need the most?The third story in the Transitions series. Covers the events of series 3, including Time Crash and Voyage of the Damned.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: Transitions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889383
Comments: 43
Kudos: 31
Collections: Don't Wanna Get Rid Of You, Just.... So cute...





	1. Smith, Tyler and Jones: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! A few things to get out of the way first:  
> \- If you haven't, please read the previous two stories for greater context  
> \- I'm going to be updating this story every other Sunday night/early Monday morning (GMT), but if I end up with a massive backlog of chapters I will post more regularly  
> \- The rating will go up, but not for a very long time  
> \- I've estimated that this is going to be 49 chapters long, but we'll see!  
> I think that's it! This first chapter is really a collection of little ideas that grew into its own self-indulgent thing, but I hope you enjoy!

It had been four months since Ryan had said goodbye to his mother, Jackie, for the final time. Four months since a fiery, redheaded bride called Donna had suddenly appeared on the TARDIS. Four months since Ryan and the Doctor had found out he was going to live a lot longer than either of them had previously thought.

Not much had changed since then. Not really. Well, it depended on which aspect of the Doctor’s and Ryan’s chaotic lives you were looking at. They still saved entire planets, brought down corrupt governments and rescued travellers who were lost, drifting in space, who felt they had had no chance of survival. But they also took more downtime. Ryan still had bad days, when the grief would boil over again. They would just stay in the TARDIS, mostly together, occasionally apart when Ryan requested some time alone.

Not much had changed regarding their dynamic, either. It was nice, comfortable, platonic. Occasionally it would stray into something more, but not for long. Lingering touches, hugs with no real reason – and when they were justified, they were far lengthier than they should have been. And then there was the occasional bedsharing. There was nothing behind it; if Ryan was feeling particularly lonely or scared, he’d ask the Doctor, the Doctor would say yes, and the Doctor would be gone in the morning. Nothing more, nothing less. No promises, no intent. Just two friends, one comforting the other, while they unknowingly comforted the first.

Ryan thought the Doctor would have made some kind of move, seeing as he didn’t have to worry about having to one day stand over Ryan’s grave. Maybe Ryan had read him all wrong in the first place. Sure, the Doctor said he had danced, and that he had once been a father, but what did that really mean? He didn’t even know if the Doctor was capable of harbouring romantic feelings, and even if he was, was there anything to say that those feelings currently existed, and were inclined towards Ryan?

It had been four months since they had last been on Earth. Ryan had suggested a visit; even if he didn’t live there anymore and had no intentions to do so in the future, it was always pleasant to visit your place of birth. And nowhere else in the universe could they get better chips.

***

“You’ve changed suit.”

The Doctor smiled boyishly as he danced around the console. “I’m glad you noticed.”

Ryan heard the unspoken question. _What do you think?_

He appraised the Doctor’s new outfit. A deep blue suit with subtle rust-coloured pinstripes, and matching red Converse All-Stars. “Looks nice. Suits you, even.” Ryan chuckled at his own pun. “I believe you promised me a trip to Earth.”

The Doctor grinned. “I believe I did.” He threw down a lever, jolting the TARDIS into flight. They landed no more gracefully than they normally did, nearly falling to the floor. The Doctor took Ryan’s hand and tugged him down the ramp and out of the TARDIS.

“London,” the Doctor announced. Ryan didn’t recognise the street, but it looked enough like central London for him. “Now you’ve gotta tell me when,” he teased.

Ryan took the Doctor’s challenge. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, no weird logos on advertisements. People weren’t using any different technologies, and they were still dressing in baggy jeans and jackets. It was warm, though not yet t-shirt weather, and there was blossom on the two trees Ryan could see.

“I’m gonna guess… early twenty-first century, probably not too far from 2007 and… spring? I dunno, you tell me.” Ryan said, shrugging.

The Doctor looked proud and genuinely impressed. “It’s Sunday the 27th of April, 2008. Well done, you.” He nudged Ryan playfully, then suddenly shuddered.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sundays,” the Doctor sniffed. “Don’t like Sundays. Boring.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make it interesting then, won’t we?” Ryan shot the Doctor a tongue-touched grin as he pulled him down the street.

“How are we gonna do that?” the Doctor asked.

“We’ll start off with some chips, obviously.” Ryan gave the Doctor a side-eye. “And don’t you think you’re off the hook, you’re paying.”

The Doctor waggled his eyebrows. “What if I don’t have any money on me? New suit, remember?”

“Fair point,” Ryan laughed. “Though I don’t think you would’ve bothered with transferring stuff between suits, so I’m guessing the TARDIS just copied everything over, or something like that. Can she do that?”

The Doctor sighed half-heartedly. “You got me there,” he admitted.

“Knew it. Come on.”

***

The pair soon found a chippy; the Doctor slipped a tenner into Ryan’s hand before seating himself at a table by the window. Ryan sauntered up to the counter.

“Hello sir, what can we do for you?” asked the man behind the counter, a portly, middle-aged, balding chap.

“Er, large chips please, mate,” Ryan said after a pause.

“Two pound fifty, cheers,”

Ryan placed the money in his hand, took the change and thanked the man, before wandering back over to the Doctor. The cheap metal chair scraped against the tiled floor as he pulled it out from under the table, and he put the change on the table as he sat down, grinning.

“What?” the Doctor asked as he scooped up the change, pocketing it.

Ryan lowered his voice to a whisper. “He called me sir!”

“I know!” the Doctor said excitedly, in a hushed tone.

“Makes me feel like a proper manly man.”

The Doctor took Ryan’s hand under the table and squeezed it. “But you are a proper manly man,” he said gently.

“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled. “But it’s just nice to be seen that way by strangers, y’know? But you’ve been great too, amazing, even.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “I have?”

“Yeah, honestly I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you,” Ryan said sincerely.

The Doctor smiled softly. “You’re the first trans person I’ve ever known,” he quietly admitted.

“But you know so much?”

“Well, you know me, I like to do my research on my favourite species,” the Doctor said with a wink.

“What about Time Lords?” Ryan hesitantly asked.

“Bit more complicated. We can change gender when we regenerate, though it’s not exactly common. And Time Lord society was very different to human society, we didn’t have the same strict gender roles. If a Time Lord did change gender via regeneration, it was just such a nonissue that no one ever really talked about it. Like, even I might be a woman someday. Who knows?”

“So… you’ve always been a man?”

The Doctor nodded. Ryan felt like he was pushing his luck, asking the Doctor about the Time Lords. He assessed the Doctor’s body language and facial expression. He looked relaxed and was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Ryan decided he could safely ask him another question.

“Could Time Lords be trans? Like, what if you regenerated into a woman but your brain is still telling you you’re a man?”

The Doctor scratched his sideburn as he pondered over the question. “Like I said before, you’re the first trans person I’ve met. I never knew of any trans people on Gallifrey. I suppose it could happen, hypothetically, but honestly I’ve got no idea,” he chuckled.

They continued their quiet chatter, until the man behind the counter interrupted them.

“One large chips,” he hollered across the shop. Ryan went up to the counter to retrieve his food, and sat back down at the table.

“Do you want to eat somewhere else?” the Doctor asked, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

“Don’t see why not, it’s a nice enough day.”

***

They found their way to a park near the bank of the Thames. The Doctor took off his trench coat and laid it out on the green grass, and they both flopped down on it, Ryan placing the polystyrene chip box between them.

It was oddly reminiscent of Ryan’s ‘first date’ with his first, leather-clad, icy blue-eyed Doctor, and his ‘first date’ with this newer, brown, cheerful Doctor. Except he wasn’t looking particularly brown today in his new blue suit. A small part of Ryan wanted to pretend that this was an actual date, with the Doctor making an effort to look nice, changing into something different for the occasion.

Ryan settled back into the Doctor’s coat, feeling the warm spring sun on his face. They talked about everything and nothing, mostly the Doctor rambling about the times he met various famous historical figures, or got arrested the moment he stepped foot on some alien planet because he was blond (“remind me to never take you there, Ryan”), or the time he accidentally invented the Yorkshire pudding.

The Doctor occasionally took a chip from Ryan’s box – Ryan didn’t count it as stealing, he had got a large, having taken into account the fact that the Doctor would take some, and the Doctor had paid for them in the first place. Even if the Doctor did effectively steal the money for them.

“…And then she told me…” the Doctor trailed off.

“She told you what?” Ryan asked, rolling onto his side to look at him.

The Doctor had sat up, and was staring across the Thames to the opposite bank, frowning slightly. “Plasma coils.”

“What’re they?” Ryan asked, having sat upright as well.

“Small devices, can be used for anything, really. Tend to cause a build-up of static electricity in the area – I’d be able to sense it, if we were a bit closer.”

“So I’m guessing it’s not from Earth,” Ryan deduced.

“Your guess would be correct.”

“Well,” Ryan nudged the Doctor. “Looks like we’ve found something interesting for our boring Sunday,” he grinned.

“D’you happen to know what that building is?” the Doctor asked, pointing at a particularly blocky and drab one.

“Hospital, maybe…” Ryan paused. “Yeah, think so. Royal Hope or something… oh! That works really well! You can be a doctor and I can be…”

“A patient. And I’ll be your husband.”

Ryan’s jaw dropped. “What!?” he spluttered.

“Oh sorry, forgot we can’t be married yet. Civil partners, then.”

Ryan froze, but his face burned. What the fuck was the Doctor thinking?

“Why?” he managed to ask.

“It’s quite simple really. I have a good reason for staying with you overnight, and I get to have a poke around while you sleep.”

Quite simple? Was that all? Sure, Ryan thought it was a sound plan, but why did the Doctor have to make things so bloody difficult? What was he supposed to think when the man he lo- has feelings for - wants to pretend that they’re married?

“I’ve got a question.” That was a lie, Ryan had about a million questions, most of which were some variation on ‘do you have romantic feelings for me or are you just being oblivious and weird?’. “Why do I have to be the patient?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Thought that was obvious; you’ve got records and an NHS number and all that – should be easier than waving the psychic paper in everyone’s face.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, records that say I’m female. And dead,” he added as an afterthought.

“Err, right. I forgot. Sorry,” the Doctor said quietly. “We’ll use the psychic paper, takes some of the fun out, though…”

The Doctor suddenly doubled over, clutching his stomach, wincing in pain.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Ryan exclaimed.

The Doctor looked up at Ryan, with a sly grin on his face. “It appears I’ve suddenly got these awful stomach pains. Might have to go to hospital.” He winked.

“Drama queen,” Ryan chuckled. “Come on, I’ll take you to hospital.” He picked up the now-empty chip box, and helped the Doctor put his long coat on.

***

“John Smith. Again. Seriously?” Ryan hissed.

“You have to admit, Ryan, it works brilliantly,” the Doctor replied, sounding a little smug.

Ryan sighed. They were sat in the waiting area of A&E. The Doctor had enthusiastically introduced himself to the receptionist as John Smith, and Ryan as his partner. The Doctor hadn’t skipped a beat when he said that, in contrast to Ryan’s instantly flushed face. The Doctor had shown the receptionist his psychic paper, and explained his condition to her. She smiled politely, and requested that they take a seat, and told them that a nurse would see them shortly.

That had been fifteen minutes ago. In that time, the Doctor had read every magazine in the rack, and was now bouncing his knee in boredom.

“Why is this taking so long?” he whined.

“It hasn’t been that long, Doctor. And there’s not that many people here, so you’ll be seen soon,” Ryan tried to reassure him.

“But it’s a Sunday. Boring, stupid, Sunday. Why are people getting ill? No one’s supposed to do that on a Sunday,” the Doctor huffed.

“You know people can’t control when they get ill? Doctor?”

The Doctor had decided to ignore Ryan and had found his new source of entertainment, a wooden bead maze. A child’s toy that could be found in practically every waiting room across the country. Probably across the world, too.

Ryan sighed. “How old are you?” he asked, exasperated.

“I’m thirty-two years old!” the Doctor exclaimed, happily holding up the paperwork given to him by the receptionist, that showed John Smith’s date of birth as being the 23rd of November 1975.

Ryan resisted the strong urge to either scream or kick the Doctor’s shin. There were few things worse than waiting in A&E. One of those things was waiting in A&E with a nine hundred (ish) year old alien, who sometimes acted like a five year old, and yet could pass as a thirty-two year old.

The Doctor shifted back onto the uncomfortable vinyl chair. “Sorry. Don’t really need the extra attention.” It seemed the Doctor had finally noticed the other occupants of the waiting room, who were either glaring at them or pointedly ignoring them, hiding behind newspapers.

After another hour of waiting – which passed relatively quickly as the Doctor was doing a much better job of pretending to be human, by quietly conversing with Ryan – the Doctor was called through to see a nurse. The nurse wasn’t able to draw any immediate conclusions – as expected of a patient who wasn’t actually ill. They only had to wait a little longer to be seen by a doctor, who again couldn’t find anything wrong, but told the Doctor that he would have to be kept overnight.

“Success,” the Doctor whispered to Ryan, grinning. They had been left in a ward with a few other patients, and the Doctor was sat up in a bed, dressed in a hospital gown and with blankets over his legs.

“Well, only phase one,” Ryan replied as he finished drawing the curtains around the Doctor’s bed, the papery, thin fabric only giving them a little extra privacy. “So, what do we do now?”

The Doctor shrugged. “We wait, I guess. As I said, the plasma coils could be used for anything, so we’ll have to wait and see.”

Ryan groaned. He was going to have to wait with the Doctor for god knows how long. He didn’t know who was going to go mad first; the Doctor with boredom, or him with irritation.

“Why’re you frowning like that?”

“’S just I wouldn’t exactly describe you as patient, Doctor.”

If Time Lords could pout, Ryan would have said the Doctor pouted. “You wound me, Ryan. I am known for being patient throughout the galaxies – in fact I was once –“

Ryan placed a gentle hand on the Doctor’s arm to hush him. “Doctor, you know you tend to get a bit antsy when you’re waiting for something to happen.”

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest but Ryan beat him to it. “Could you please be patient – and I mean properly patient – for me? Just don’t drive me mad. Please?”

Wordlessly, the Doctor tugged Ryan down for a hug.

“I promise,” he whispered into Ryan’s ear. “I promise I will be a patient patient.” They both laughed and continued to hold each other for a few moments longer, before pulling away.

“I’m kinda hungry,” Ryan quietly admitted.

“What, we only just got chips?”

“Yeah, four hours ago, it’s half six,” Ryan argued as he needlessly pointed at a clock on the wall – the Doctor always innately knew the time.

The Doctor sighed and reached into his jacket - which lay discarded on a chair beside his bed – grumbling about humans and their inefficiencies.

“I’ll get you something as well if you like, or you can stick to hospital food,” Ryan teased in response, poking his tongue out.

The Doctor pressed a couple of notes into Ryan’s palm. “Surprise me.”

***

Ryan found a Tesco Express just down the street from the hospital, the perfect place to grab a quick meal. From the general chatter he heard in the convenience store, he gathered that there was both a general election and a London mayoral election the coming Thursday. He had never voted before – his first chance to vote in a general election had been in 2005 and he missed that with no thanks to the Doctor’s driving, and he had also missed the subsequent election of Harriet Jones. And now he never could vote, unless he decided he was going to commit voter fraud. The Doctor wouldn’t let him do that – they would just jump straight to bringing down the government if need be.

He quickly picked out some food for both him (BLT sandwich, salt and vinegar crisps and a Diet Coke) and the Doctor (spicy chicken pasta, a bar of Fruit & Nut and a banana smoothie) and paid, then walked back to the Royal Hope.

The Doctor was practically beaming when Ryan re-entered the ward. Ryan drew the curtain behind him, dropped his carrier bag on the bed and sat down on a chair.

“You took your time!”

“I was gone barely fifteen minutes and you know that,” Ryan argued, reaching into the carrier bag to give the Doctor his food.

“I was getting bored and you make everything less boring,” the Doctor said, quiet and sincere.

Ryan nervously laughed. “I try,” he said weakly, placing the Doctor’s food in his lap.

“Ooh! Banana smoothie! You know me so well!”

***

As the clocks ticked closer and closer to midnight, they quietly talked, mindful of the other patients in the ward. Their evenings were usually spent reading together in the library, or huddled under blankets in the media room, watching a film. But as the Doctor had neither a book nor a portable DVD player on him, they settled for simple conversation. They could talk for hours, or more specifically the Doctor could, with a nearly endless selection of topics. However, Ryan eventually found himself nodding and humming in the right places, tiredness creeping up on him.

“You should take the bed,” the Doctor whispered, suddenly changing topics.

Ryan blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re tired. Take the bed – it’s very hi-tech, well, by your standards, all these buttons to change the incline…”

“What’re you gonna do?” Ryan asked, his speech slightly slurred.

“Wow, you really are tired; sneak around, investigate a little, you know!” The Doctor grinned devilishly.

“’Kay… wake me up when you get back, please…”

“Of course,” the Doctor said as he slid off the bed. He gave Ryan a quick hug and then disappeared into the night.

Ryan kicked off his trainers, not bothering to untie them, before pulling off his hoodie and t-shirt. He wriggled out of his chest binder and slipped his t-shirt back on. He crawled under the covers; the bed was warm from where the Doctor had been sat. Ryan could smell him too, the faint scent of tea and old books and something earthier.

As his eyes fell shut, Ryan contemplated his day. For even their standards, it had been a bit weird. It had been nice, he wasn’t going to deny that, but the whole you’re-my-husband thing had left him very confused. How does the Doctor see him? Which category does the Doctor think their relationship falls in? And for once, Ryan felt he was glad that this was going to be one of those things that never gets mentioned again, because he didn’t know what would happen if he got answers, whatever they were.

***

“Ryan, I’m back.”

Ryan stirred and opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Thirteen minutes to one,” the Doctor whispered as he sat down.

“Find anything?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Nah, nothing out of the ordinary at all. Go back to sleep.”

“What ‘bout you?” Ryan mumbled.

The Doctor tilted his head down at the chair he was in. “I’ll get a couple of hours.”

Ryan shuffled across the bed as far as he could. “’S not good for you, sleeping like that.”

The Doctor sighed and got in next to Ryan, the single bed leaving them pressed together. They both rolled over onto their sides, facing each other, giving each other as much space as possible. Under the blankets, their hands found the other’s.

The Doctor squeezed Ryan’s gently.

“Goodnight, Ryan.”

“’Night, Doctor.”

Together, they fell into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wiki says the events of Smith and Jones happened on the 4th of June 2008. I have changed this for a couple of reasons, namely so that I get to make a bad joke much, much later, and because otherwise the election wouldn't be on a Thursday (as they always are in the UK). Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to leave any comments you may have!


	2. Smith, Tyler and Jones: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I want to put these up every week, rather than every other week, so I'll be doing that instead from now on. Chapters will be in the 2k to 3k range, but may be shorter if I don't have much time or if there's a more convenient place to break an episode up. Hope you enjoy!

Ryan felt something, someone, shaking him awake, halting his sleep. He cracked one eye open. The Doctor was peering down at him, his cheerful expression illuminated by the faint orange glow of the rising sun.

“Hello,” he whispered.

“Hello,” Ryan mumbled. “What time issit?”

“Seven in the morning, precisely. Not your full eight hours, but the nurses will be around soon, and I imagine you’ll want to be up and ready before then,” the Doctor said quietly from his upright position against the headboard.

“Thanks… don’t know when I last got up this early,” Ryan pondered.

“School?”

“Yeah, suppose. I was meant to get up then, but kinda gave up after the first half term of year seven. Was always late.”

The Doctor grinned at him. “Naughty,” he teased, poking Ryan’s cheekbone.

Ryan shrugged, or as best he could lying down. “Didn’t care too much for school. Never felt I learnt anything from just reading books or writing out notes, or listening to the teacher. But I like learning things your way, like by actually doing stuff.”

“Really?” the Doctor asked, his eyes shining with something that could have been pride.

“Yeah, I feel like I’ve learnt so much. Not that any of it would be of any use on your typical CV, but it’s all handy in our line of work,” Ryan joked.

The Doctor laughed quietly with him. “Suppose it is…”

Ryan pushed himself up. Feeling suddenly too aware of his proximity to the Doctor on the small bed, he swung his legs over the side, letting his feet land on the ground. He hissed as his hand brushed against the metal frame of the bed.

“Static shock you?” the Doctor asked.

Ryan hummed in affirmation.

The Doctor sniffed the air. “The rate of build-up of static electricity has been steadily increasing. It’s gotta reach boiling point soon, well, neutralisation point I suppose, seeing as its an electrical discharge rather a phase transition between different states of matter.”

Ryan smiled at the Doctor’s brief ramble. “I hope it reaches neutralisation point soon too, don’t want to have to deal with you driving me mad for another full day,” he deadpanned.

“I promised I wouldn’t!” the Doctor protested.

Ryan shot him a tongue-touched grin. “I know, just joking.” He stilled, spotting his chest binder where it lay discarded on a vinyl chair. He picked it up and turned away from the Doctor, facing the curtain.

“Could you turn away for a sec? Need to put my binder back on,” he asked, nervously.

“Oh, of course, sorry,” the Doctor replied, stumbling over the words. Ryan heard the mattress creak behind him. Knowing that he didn’t need to check whether the Doctor had turned away or not, Ryan quickly pulled off his t-shirt and wriggled into his binder, replacing his hoodie and t-shirt afterwards.

He turned back around to face the bed, running his tongue over his teeth as he did so, grimacing. They should have thought to get some toiletries and maybe a change of clothes from the TARDIS before they had checked in at the hospital.

“Don’t suppose you happen to have a toothbrush or something?”

The Doctor patted his torso, before remembering he was dressed in a hospital gown rather than a pinstriped suit. He reached over to grab his jacket and rifled through the pockets, eventually producing a toothbrush with some toothpaste pre-applied, a pack of facial cleansing wipes and a stick of deodorant.

Ryan thanked him, running the deodorant under his arms and wiping his face clean. Fortunately, testosterone hadn’t given him a severe case of acne, but even so he put extra effort into keeping his face clean – he had already been through the spotty-teenager phase before and didn’t fancy going through it again.

“What’s the toothpaste?” he asked after cleaning his teeth. “Kinda funky.”

“Venusian spearmint.”

“What, so in the future Venus is colonised and people make toothpaste?”

“Yep,” the Doctor grinned. “Well, who’s to say Venus isn’t colonised already?”

Ryan snorted. “What else?” he asked, sitting down on the chair beside the Doctor.

“What else what? The exports of Venus?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I ever tell you about my skills in Venusian Aikido?” the Doctor asked smugly.

Ryan laughed incredulously. “You? Doing martial arts? With you being all gangly? Doing this?” he questioned, making slicing motions with his hands.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and laughed good-naturedly. “Haven’t done it in about a hundred years, mind. And Ryan, there’s no such thing as a karate chop. I mean, the closest thing is probably the _shuto uchi_ , or knife-hand strike, but there’s no vertical chopping motion.”

Ryan quirked an eyebrow. “Since when did you know so much about karate?”

“I know a lot about many things; thought you knew that by now?” the Doctor winked.

***

After a visit from a nurse, a group of medical students made their rounds, accompanied by their supervisor, Mr Stoker, who was one of the many members of staff they had met yesterday.

“Now then, Mr Smith, Mr Tyler,” Mr Stoker greeted them in turn, drawing back the curtain further. “A very good morning to you both. How are you today?” he asked, specifically addressing the Doctor.

“Oh, not so bad,” the Doctor replied, cheerfully. “Still a bit, y’know, bleurgh.”

Ryan quickly coughed to cover up any giggles.

“John Smith, admitted yesterday with severe abdominal pains,” Mr Stoker explained to his students, who were hurriedly making notes. Mr Stoker turned to a pretty black woman next to him. “Jones, why don’t you see what you can find? Amaze me.”

“Well, it wasn’t very clever running round outside, was it?” the student, Jones, asked the Doctor as she approached him.

“Sorry?”

“On Chancellor Street this morning? Came up to me and took your tie off,” she elaborated as she took hold of her stethoscope.

“Really? What did I do that for?” the Doctor asked, confused.

“Can’t have been him,” Ryan interjected. “We’ve been here all morning.”

“I don’t know; you just did,” Jones answered the Doctor before looking over to Ryan. “And you were there too, told me I’d understand later. But you were wearing different clothes, too.”

Ryan frowned. “Definitely wasn’t us.”

“Well, that’s weird, ‘cos they looked like both of you. Have you got brothers, or something?” the student questioned, not sounding entirely convinced.

“No, not anymore,” the Doctor answered, while Ryan shook his head. Well, there was a chance he did, Ryan thought sadly, but he would never be able to meet his sibling.

Mr Stoker interrupted them. “As time passes and I grow ever more infirm and weary, Miss Jones?”

Jones nervously laughed. “Sorry. Right,” she said, slipping the stethoscope into her ears. She placed the chestpiece over the left side of the Doctor’s ribs, and listened for a few seconds, before moving over to the Doctor’s right side. The Doctor subtly glanced at Ryan, before winking at Jones, seeing her expression sober.

“I weep for future generations. Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?” Mr Stoker asked, his tone patronising, as she slowly shifted away.

“Um, I don’t know,” Jones said as she put her stethoscope away. “Stomach cramps?” she suggested.

“That is a symptom, not a diagnosis,” her supervisor dismissed. “And you rather failed basic techniques by not consulting first with the patient’s chart,” he explained, moving around to the foot of the bed. He picked up the clipboard hooked over the bedframe, then immediately dropped it onto the bed after touching the metal clip, the static electricity clearly visible.

“That happened to me this morning,” said Jones.

“I had the same thing on the door handle,” added a male student.

“And me, in the lift,” chorused another female student.

“Well, it’s only to be expected,” Mr Stoker explained, picking up the clipboard from where it had fallen onto the blankets. “There’s a thunderstorm moving in, and lightning is a form of static electricity, as first proven by… anyone?”

“Benjamin Franklin,” the Doctor quickly answered, to the surprise of Mr Stoker.

“Correct.”

Ryan took a deep breath, taking a good guess at what the Doctor was about to say.

“My mate Ben, that was a day and a half,” the Doctor mused, as Ryan sighed. “I got rope burns off that kite. And then I got soaked.”

“Quite…”

“And then I got electrocuted!” the Doctor finished, grinning at the students.

Ryan swatted his arm to stop him from saying anything further. “Sorry, he likes to think he’s being funny,” he said, smiling politely.

“A peculiar sense of humour… moving on,” Mr Stoker said nervously, leading his students away. Jones trailed behind them, smiling at the Doctor and Ryan, which they both returned.

“What do you mean, ‘he likes to think he’s being funny’?” the Doctor asked in mock hurt.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean; we’re supposed to be undercover and you go blabbering on about Benjamin Franklin, who’s been dead for I dunno how long, two hundred years or something!” he hissed.

“Two hundred and eighteen years,” the Doctor corrected as Ryan got up to draw the curtain again.

“Whatever,” Ryan said softly as he sat back down. The Doctor reached for his hand, pulling it into his lap and started playing with his fingers. Ryan let him; a distracted Doctor wouldn’t go around and start causing trouble. And besides, it felt nice, having the Doctor’s fingers run over and wrap around his.

The Doctor apologised. “Sorry, you know I get a bit overexcited sometimes.”

Understatement of the year. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll always be there to save your arse from awkward social situations,” Ryan grinned.

“Knew there was a reason for why I keep you around,” the Doctor joked.

“Rude.”

“And not ginger.” They both laughed.

“So what’s the deal with that student, Jones?” Ryan asked. “Did she just create some kind of causal loop or something?”

The Doctor nodded. “Bootstrap paradox. At some point, we’re going to go back in time and see her on Chancellor Street. I’m going to take my tie off, but only because she told me I did that. That idea of me taking my tie off has no proper origin.”

“And the same with me, telling her she’d understand later. I’m only gonna say that because she told me I would. Or did, I guess.”

“Exactly. The same thing with Bad Wolf.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “How d’you mean? Like, what specifically about Bad Wolf?”

“You realised it was a message, telling you to come save me. You then looked into the heart of the TARDIS, hence creating the Bad Wolf, and then scattered the message across the universe. Bad Wolf’s existence is the result of a bootstrap paradox.”

Ryan pondered over the Doctor’s explanation for a moment. “Bit confusing, but I think I get you.”

The Doctor smiled. “Good. Though you haven’t asked the question I thought you’d ask.”

“What’s the question you thought I’d ask?”

“Why our friend Miss Jones checked the other side of my chest for a heartbeat.”

“Oh, just guessed she heard the echo of your other heart. At least I did, when I checked.”

The Doctor tilted his head in surprise. “When was that?”

“After you regenerated; Mum got a stethoscope from god knows where, and I checked your heartbeat. Seemed like a good idea,” Ryan shrugged.

“Ah, yeah, good idea,” the Doctor said, distractedly, having stopped fiddling with Ryan’s fingers.

“Doctor, is it about to happen? Can you tell?”

“Um, yeah… think so…”

“What…” Ryan trailed off, picking up on the increasingly frantic chatter coming from behind the curtain around them. “The rain’s going up?”

There was a loud clap of thunder, and they were suddenly thrown from side to side. Ryan instinctively grabbed onto the bedframe for some kind of hold. After about ten seconds, the violent shaking stopped. Ryan picked himself up from where he was half slumped on the floor, as the Doctor rolled out of bed.

“You okay?” the Doctor asked, tugging Ryan in for a hug.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Ryan replied over his shoulder. “What the hell was that?” he asked, pulling away. “Worse than you trying to land the TARDIS.”

“H2O scoop – that’s what the plasma coils are for!” the Doctor exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. “We’ve been taken somewhere else!”

They both stilled as the ward filled with hysterical screams and loud sobs.

“Right, I’ll go and check to see what’s going on, you get dressed,” Ryan said, nodding towards the Doctor’s folded suit.

The Doctor grinned and nodded. “Yes sir.”

Ryan slipped out between the curtains and walked towards the window, checking on a few people on his way. He stared out over the grey, rocky landscape and spotted the Earth in the distance. He had seen the Earth from space before, though not quite from this angle. “Damn. Well, can’t say I’ve been to the Moon before,” he said, to no one in particular. Not for lack of trying though – the Doctor had once tried to take him to the Moon, but they instead landed in a village on the south coast and had a run-in with a Dalek. Maybe they could try again at some point.

“All right, now, everyone, back to bed,” spoke an authoritative voice. “We’ve got an emergency, but we’ll sort it out, don’t worry.”

Ryan glanced behind him. It was that student, Jones, and another student, whose name he didn’t know.

“You alright?” he asked them both as they approached the window. Jones nodded, but her friend didn’t respond, clearly trying not to panic.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” Jones asked him. “It’s really real!”

“Yeah…” Ryan breathed out. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked the other student, again.

“Hold on,” Jones said as she reached for the window latch.

“Don’t, we’ll lose all the air,” the other student implored, grabbing Jones’ arm.

“But they’re not exactly airtight,” Jones reasoned. “If the air was gonna get sucked out, it would’ve happened straight away, but it didn’t, so how come?”

“Very good point!” the Doctor interrupted, pulling the curtain back with a flourish. “Brilliant, in fact. What was your name?”

“Martha.”

“Jones, isn’t it?”

“Well, Martha Jones, Ryan, question is, how are we still breathing?” the Doctor asked as he strode towards the window, peering outside.

“We can’t be!” the other student half-sobbed.

“Well, obviously we are, so don’t waste my time,” the Doctor rudely dismissed.

“I’m sorry about him,” Ryan shot a glare at the Doctor. “We’ll sort this out, I promise,” he assured the other student.

“Er, yes, we will. Sorry,” the Doctor quickly apologised. “Martha, what have we got, is there a balcony on this floor, or a veranda…?”

“By the patients’ lounge, yeah.”

“Fancy going out?” the Doctor asked in a low tone, his eyes flickering between Ryan and Martha.

“’Course.”

“Okay…”

“We might die,” the Doctor warned.

“We might not,” Martha responded, daring.

“You’re good,” Ryan smiled.

“Yeah, you are,” the Doctor agreed. “Come on.” He took hold of Ryan’s hand and tugged him along as they quickly walked out of the ward, leaving Martha to catch up with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Smith, Tyler and Jones: Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, apologies for the shorter chapter this week, but next week's should be longer. Hope you enjoy!

The Doctor and Ryan followed Martha the rest of the way to the balcony. They paused at the door, before the Doctor slowly turned the doorknob and pushed it open. They stopped, staring in awe at the Earth, their view truly uninhibited by window frames and glass, before taking in a deep breath.

“We’ve got air!” Martha quietly exclaimed as they edged further out onto the balcony. “How does that work?”

“Just be glad it does…” the Doctor mused.

“And we’ve got an artificial gravity field, or something like that,” Ryan conjectured.

“Hold on, what do you mean, ‘artificial gravity field’?” Martha interrupted.

Ryan turned back towards her. “We should be way more floaty, like how Neil Armstrong and that were.” He shrugged. “So there’s gotta be an artificial gravity field, right?” He glanced up at the Doctor, who was still holding his hand. The Doctor smiled and nodded.

As they approached the edge of the balcony, the Doctor shifted his grip on Ryan’s hand, entangling their fingers. They watched the unliving, silent lunar surface, contemplating. Ryan stood in the middle, close to the Doctor, with him on his right side, and Martha a little further away on his left.

“I’ve got a party tonight,” Martha breathed out. “It’s my brother’s twenty-first. My mother’s gonna be really… really…” she trailed off, sounding like she was holding back tears.

“You okay?” Ryan asked gently.

“Yeah,” Martha quickly answered.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna go back in?” the Doctor suggested.

“No way,” Martha said adamantly. “I mean, we could die any minute, but all the same… it’s beautiful!”

Ryan agreed. “Yeah…”

“How many people wanna go to the Moon?” Martha cried in wonder. “And here we are!”

“Standing in the Earthlight,” the Doctor pondered. He gave Ryan’s hand a squeeze, before dropping it so he could rest his forearms on the balcony wall, leaning forwards.

“What do you think happened?” Martha abruptly questioned.

The Doctor twisted to face her from behind Ryan, who shuffled back slightly, as to not be in the way of the conversation. “What do you think?” he challenged.

Ryan could see what he was doing. Martha was bright and inquisitive and had caught both of their eyes, and so now the Doctor was testing her.

“Extra-terrestrial,” Martha said firmly, after a moment of thought. “It’s got to be. I dunno, a few ago years that would’ve sounded mad, but these days… that spaceship flying into Big Ben. Christmas. Those Cybermen things…”

She inhaled deeply. “I had a cousin. Adeola. She worked at Canary Wharf. She never came home,” Martha said, sadly.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan and the Doctor quietly chorused.

“Yeah…”

“Did she look like you, your cousin, Adeola?” the Doctor hesitantly asked.

“Yeah, people used to say we were almost like twins,” Martha said, chuckling slightly. “Why?”

“We were there, in the battle… I met her, sort of…”

“I lost my mum, too…” Ryan mumbled. Almost immediately, he felt an arm wrap around his waist. Glancing to his right, he saw that the Doctor had shifted to pull them together. Even after all these months, it was still a very painful memory to recall, and Ryan greatly appreciated every bit of comfort the Doctor gave him.

“I’m really sorry,” Martha said sympathetically.

“Thanks…”

An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments, before Martha broke it.

“And then this Christmas too, when there was that giant star and the Thames was drained.”

Ryan looked at the Doctor and mouthed ‘ _the Thames was drained?_ ’, frowning. The Doctor dismissed him with a shrug, but Ryan didn’t miss his guilty look.

Martha continued, oblivious to their exchange. “I promise you, Mr Smith and Mr, um, Tyler, we will find a way out. If we can travel to the Moon, then we can travel back. There’s got to be a way,” she said determinedly.

The Doctor sighed. “It’s not Smith. That’s not my real name.” He gently rubbed Ryan’s waist before letting go of him to pace back and forth across the balcony.

Martha turned to him. “Who are you, then?”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Me too, if I ever pass my exams,” Martha chuckled. “What is it then, Dr Smith?”

“Just the Doctor.”

“How do you mean, ‘just the Doctor’?” Martha asked, disbelievingly.

“Just the Doctor,” he repeated, dumbly.

“What, people call you ‘the Doctor’?”

“Yeah,” Ryan interrupted. “I do. And a lot of other people.” That came out more aggressively than he had intended, but he knew a thing or two about calling people the name that they wanted to be known by.

“Well, I’m not,” Martha huffed, turning away. “Far as I’m concerned, you’ve got to earn that title.” She looked at Ryan. “And what about you, do you have some weird codename as well?”

Ryan burst out laughing. “Sorry, no I don’t. Ryan Tyler is my real name. Just call me Ryan though. Mr Tyler is a bit too… formal.”

“Well,” the Doctor interjected. “I’d better make a start on earning that title, then. Let’s have a look.”

He picked up a pebble and tossed it out over the balcony. It stopped before it could get further than a few feet in front of them, creating a rippling effect on an otherwise invisible wall.

“There we go, some kind of forcefield to go with your artificial gravity field, Ryan,” the Doctor nudged him. “That’s what’s keeping the air in.”

“But if that’s like a bubble sealing us in,” Martha began slowly. “That means this is the only air we’ve got. What happens when it runs out?”

“How many people in this hospital?” the Doctor questioned.

Martha shrugged. “Dunno, a thousand?”

Ryan swallowed. A lot of people were in danger. “Shit…” he breathed out.

“A thousand people. Suffocating,” the Doctor said through gritted teeth.

“D’you reckon whoever did this needs sick humans for experimentation?” Ryan asked, thinking back to their previous hospital adventure, on New Earth.

“Dunno,” the Doctor shrugged. “Nice idea, though. I mean, your thought process was good, not kidnapping sick humans for experimentation,” he hastily clarified.

Suddenly, they heard the boom and rumble of engines, announcing the arrival of their presumed extra-terrestrial kidnappers.

“Heads up, we might get our answers.”

Three huge, cylindrical spaceships flew over the hospital and descended vertically. Once they had landed, small hatches opened at the bottom of the spaceships and lines of bipedal figures dressed in black marched out.

“Aliens. That’s aliens,” Martha exclaimed. “Real, proper aliens!”

“D’you recognise them, Doctor?” Ryan asked.

“They’re Judoon,” the Doctor replied, solemnly. “Come on, we need to see what they’re up to.”

They ran through the corridors, weaving between panicking patients and staff alike, following signs towards the main reception. They arrived at a mezzanine overlooking the reception area, and ducked behind some plants, as to not be spotted by the Judoon, who were busy scanning people below.

“Aw, look down there, you’ve got a little shop,” the Doctor cooed. “I like a little shop. Bit better than New New York’s offerings, eh?” he said, nudging Ryan.

“Hope there’s no bitchy trampolines either,” Ryan joked.

“Never mind that,” Martha hissed. “What are Judoon?”

“They’re like police,” the Doctor explained. “Well, police for hire. They’re more like interplanetary thugs…”

Ryan remembered something he had heard many months ago. “Do they work for the Shadow Proclamation?”

The Doctor nodded. “They’ve been known to.”

“They brought us to the Moon?” Martha supposed.

“Neutral territory. According to Galactic Law, they’ve got no jurisdiction over the Earth so they’ve isolated it. That rain, and lightning? That was them, using an H2O scoop.”

Martha scoffed. “What’re you on about, ‘Galactic Law’ and ‘Shadow Proclamation’? I mean, where d’you two get that from?”

Ryan and Martha followed the Doctor as he shifted around a corner to get a better view of what was happening below them: Judoon scanning terrified people and declaring them to be human.

“If they’re police, are we under arrest?” Martha continued. “Are we trespassing on the moon or something?”

“No, but I like that!” the Doctor replied, turning to Martha. “Good thinking.”

He turned to look over his other shoulder to Ryan. “Any ideas?”

Ryan could tell by the twinkle in the Doctor’s eye that he had already worked it out, but the Doctor enjoyed challenging him. He put the facts together.

“So they’re police, alien police. Looking for a criminal, probably. But they’re scanning people, seeing what species they are. So I’m guessing they’re looking for someone who looks human but… isn’t…” he faltered.

“Yep,” the Doctor said, soberly.

“Ah.”

Martha frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Her mouth dropped open when she saw the serious look on the Doctor’s face.

“Oh you’re kidding me.”

Ryan shook his head. “He’s not.”

“Don’t be ridiculous… you too?”

Ryan hesitated, not sure exactly how to answer. He was human. _Ish_. But he didn’t know how _ish_ and whether that was going to be a problem or not if he were to be scanned by a Judoon.

“He’s human,” the Doctor quickly answered for him. “Come on, then.”

They quickly jogged down the corridors and up some stairs, until the Doctor found an empty office.

“Martha, could you check to see where the Judoon are at?” the Doctor asked as he pushed open the door for the office.

“Yeah sure,” Martha replied, before running back down the corridor they came from.

“Should I go after her?” Ryan asked as the Doctor ushered him into the office.

The Doctor sniffed. “Nah, she’ll be fine. Thought you’d want to have this conversation in private.”

“What conversation? About my species?”

“Yep,” the Doctor confirmed, popping the p. “Even though your DNA has mutated slightly, you’ll still scan as a human, albeit a more highly evolved one. In theory.”

That didn’t fill Ryan with much confidence. “In theory? What about in practice?”

“The DNA scanner on board the TARDIS is very similar to the ones the Judoon use; that one reads you as human with a genetic mutation. They aren’t looking for a human, genetic mutation or no genetic mutation, so you’ll be fine if they catch you.”

Not all of Ryan’s concerns were erased. “But… what if they catch you?”

The Doctor shrugged. “I’ll just keep running.”

Well, that just about sums everything up, doesn’t it, Ryan thought, as the Doctor turned on the computer at the desk and started hacking it with his sonic screwdriver.

Martha suddenly barged into the office. “They’ve reached the third floor,” she informed them. “What’s that thing?” she asked, nodding at the Doctor’s sonic.

“It’s his sonic screwdriver,” Ryan answered.

“Well, if you’re not gonna answer me properly…”

The Doctor stopped using his sonic and spun around in his chair. “No, he’s right, really it is! It’s a screwdriver, and it’s sonic. Look.” He redundantly held it up for Martha to see.

“What else have you got? Laser spanner?” she sarcastically asked.

“I did, but it was stolen by Emmeline Pankhurst, cheeky woman,” the Doctor replied distractedly. “What’s wrong with this computer?!” he yelled, whacking the monitor.

Ryan sighed. He found the Doctor’s method of percussive maintenance quite endearing really, but it couldn’t be doing his hand much good. “What’s happening?”

“Judoon must have locked it down… Judoon platoon upon the moon…” the Doctor mumbled, rubbing his jaw in frustration. “We just came to Earth ‘cos Ryan wanted some chips; we weren’t looking for trouble. Honestly, we weren’t.” He looked at Ryan, waiting for him to confirm what he said.

“It’s true. I mean, we didn’t mind our trip getting interesting, but not like this. Not with so many people’s lives in danger. But the Doctor spotted these plasma coil things…”

“Yeah, they were around the hospital, that lightning was from the plasma coils. It’d had been building up for about two days by my estimates, so we checked in and stayed overnight, just to see what was going on inside. Turns out that the plasma coils were the Judoon up above,” the Doctor rambled, before turning his attention back to the computer.

“But what are they looking for, exactly?” Martha questioned.

“Someone who looks human but isn’t,” Ryan said, repeating his words from earlier.

Martha nodded her head towards the Doctor. “Like him. Apparently.”

“Yeah, like him. But not him. I hope.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Not me. Never gotten into _that_ much trouble.”

“Haven’t they got a photo?” asked Martha.

“Eh, might be a shape changer.”

“Whatever it is, can’t you just leave the Judoon to find it?”

The Doctor sucked in a breath. “If they declare the hospital guilty of harbouring a fugitive, they’ll sentence it to execution.”

“You mean all of us?” Ryan interjected.

“Oh, yes. But if I can find this thing first… oh!” the Doctor exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. “You see, they’re thick! Judoon are thick! They are so completely thick, they’ve wiped the records! Oh that’s clever.”

Ryan laughed, both at the Doctor’s outburst and his hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbled after Martha had shot him a glare. He tilted his head towards the Doctor. “You look like a hedgehog.”

“Does it suit me?”

“Sorry, can we focus?” Martha interrupted. “What are we looking for?”

“I don’t know, say, any patient admitted in the past week with unusual symptoms. Maybe there’s a backup…” the Doctor said, leaning over to inspect the back of the computer.

“Just keep working. I’ll go and ask Mr Stoker. He might know.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ryan offered. “I’m not much good with the computer stuff.”

Martha nodded, and Ryan followed her as they left the office, and towards Mr Stoker’s.

“Is this your usual gig?” Martha asked Ryan as they jogged. “You and your partner, you run around catching aliens?”

“Not necessarily, we just travel around. If there’s stuff to be investigated, or people to be helped, we do it.” He paused. “And we aren’t… like that. That was just so that I could stay with him overnight.”

Martha looked at Ryan in a way that indicated that she didn’t quite believe him.

They soon arrived at Mr Stoker’s office. Martha knocked on the door as she walked in.

“Mr Stoker?” she called.

They froze the sight before them. Two tall figures dressed in crash helmets and bikers’ leathers were standing guard over a little old lady, who popped up from behind the desk, with a drinking straw in her mouth. There was blood on the end of the straw.

“Think we’ve found our criminal,” Ryan muttered. “Run!”

They sprinted out and back down to where the Doctor was, but ended up quite literally running into him.

“I’ve restored the backup,” the Doctor informed them, as he braced Ryan.

“We’ve found her,” Martha panted.

“You did what?”

They turned as they heard the loud crash as one of the biker figures smashed a door off its hinges.

“Run!” the Doctor yelled, grabbing Ryan’s hand and pulling him down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Any comments are appreciated!


	4. Smith, Tyler and Jones: Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter this week! Hope you all enjoy!

They ran to a set of stairs, only managing to go down one flight before meeting Judoon making their way up. They dived through a set of double doors down another corridor, which was thankfully empty, making it easier for them to run without barging into people.

The Doctor was directing them as they weaved through the hospital, and then into a radiographic imaging room. He slammed the door behind them, locking it with his sonic. The biker figure was right behind them, and Ryan figured that the door wouldn’t hold for long.

The Doctor pushed them towards the controls for the x-ray machine.

“When I say now, press the button,” he instructed Martha.

“But I don’t know which one!” Martha cried.

“Then find out!”

Ryan watched helplessly as the Doctor used his sonic on the generator part of the x-ray machine, while Martha flipped through an instruction manual. He hated having to stand around being unable to contribute, but this was the sort of thing best left to people who knew exactly what they were doing.

Suddenly, the door fell off its hinges and the biker figure marched in.

“Now!” the Doctor commanded, and Martha slammed down a big yellow button in the centre of the control panel.

A powerful beam of high-frequency electromagnetic radiation was fired at their assailant, causing it to jerk back and forth; the intense blast even highlighting the Doctor’s skeleton. After a couple of seconds, the x-ray was shut off and the biker figure toppled to the ground, dead.

“What the hell was that?” Ryan asked through heavy breaths, adrenaline wearing off.

“X-ray beam, a really powerful x-ray beam,” the Doctor explained, panting. “Basically, I sort of overclocked the x-ray tube so it would produce x-ray photons at a much higher rate, effectively increasing the radiation by five thousand percent. Killed him dead.”

Ryan nodded. He appreciated it when the Doctor would go out of his way to explain a concept in a lot more detail than he would normally – didn’t mean he always understood it, though. Although, ‘photons’ did ring a bell, something to do with light and the electromagnetic spectrum, whatever that was. He could always ask the Doctor to give him a brief run-down on the basics of physics later, but knowing the Doctor, he’d probably get distracted and complain about how everything Ryan had been taught at school was wrong, or about the time he’d once helped out with Rutherford’s experiments.

“But isn’t that going to kill you?” Martha asked, concerned.

“Nah, it’s only roentgen radiation. We used to play with roentgen bricks in the nursery. It’s safe for you to come out, I’ve absorbed it all.”

Ryan and Martha moved from behind the protective screen as the Doctor grunted. “All I need to do is expel it. If I concentrate…” He started bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet, breathing heavily. “Shift the radiation… out of my body… and into… one… spot… say, my left shoe.” He switched to hopping on his right foot. “Here we go, here we go… easy does it… out! Out! Out, out, out!” He hopped towards a yellow medical waste bin, kicking the air. “Ow! Ah! Itches, itches, itches, itches!”

The Doctor reached down and pulled off his shoe and sock, throwing them in the bin. “Done.”

Martha and Ryan stared at him, incredulously. Even by the Doctor’s standards, that was weird.

“You’re completely mad,” Martha bluntly stated.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Ryan muttered.

“You’re right,” the Doctor said seriously. “I look daft with one shoe.”

He reached down and pulled off his other shoe and sock and slammed them in the bin. “Barefoot on the moon!” he said, audibly snapping his jaw.

“So, what’s that?” Ryan asked, nodding towards the dead leather-clad biker figure.

“And where’s it from, the Planet Zovirax?” Martha joked, as they crouched around the body.

“It’s just a Slab. They’re called Slabs,” explained the Doctor. “Basic slave drones, you see. Solid leather, all the way through. Someone has got one hell of a fetish.”

Ryan exhaled sharply through his nose. It sounded weird, the Doctor saying fetish so casually.

“There was this woman,” he began.

“Miss Finnegan,” Martha supplied. “It was working for her, just like a servant.”

The Doctor pulled his sonic out of the x-ray machine, or rather, what remained of it. “My sonic screwdriver!” he quietly moaned.

“She was one of the patients, but…”

“Burnt out my sonic screwdriver!”

“And she was drinking blood with a straw,” Ryan added.

“I love my sonic screwdriver!”

“Doctor!” Ryan and Martha both half-shouted.

The Doctor turned his attention back to them. “Sorry,” he said, flinging his sonic screwdriver behind him. So much for all that fuss, Ryan thought.

The Doctor looked at Martha and grinned. “You called me Doctor!”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Right, we’ve found our alien, she’s calling herself Miss Finnegan, and she was drinking blood.”

“Mr Stoker’s blood,” Martha appended.

“Funny time to take a snack, you’d think she’d be hiding. Unless…” The Doctor looked up to the ceiling, and Ryan could practically see the cogs turning. “No? Yes! That’s it! Wait a minute… yes!” he shouted. “Shape-changer! Internal shape-changer! She wasn’t drinking blood; she was assimilating it. If she can assimilate Mr Stoker’s blood, mimic the biology, she’ll register as human. We’ve got to find her and show the Judoon. Come on!”

***

Martha lead them back towards Mr Stoker’s office, but before they could round the first corner, the Doctor held out his arm to stop them. Ducked behind a water cooler, they watched as the other Slab marched past.

“That’s the thing about Slabs, they always travel in pairs,” the Doctor said, lowly.

“What, like you two?”

Ryan swallowed sharply; he knew Martha hadn’t believed him when he told her earlier.

The Doctor made a pained sound in his throat. “Humans!” he scoffed. “We’re stuck on the Moon, running out of air, with Judoon and a bloodsucking criminal, and you’re asking personal questions? Come on.” He started to walk away, ducking low.

“I like that – ‘humans’” Martha mocked. “I’m still not convinced you’re an alien.”

“Better than being called a stupid ape,” Ryan shrugged.

Around the corner, they were immediately met by a Judoon, who shone a blue light in the Doctor’s face as it scanned him.

“Non-human,” the Judoon confirmed, in a deep, grunting voice.

“Oh my god, you really are!” Martha exclaimed.

“And again!”

They took off running, narrowing avoiding shots from the Judoon’s laser weaponry. They ran up a set of stairs, and through a door, the Doctor locking it behind them. They determinedly walked down another corridor, where there were people slumped against the walls. The lack of oxygen was getting to them, and Ryan could feel it too. Whenever he took a breath, it never felt like he was getting quite enough air – and wearing a binder wasn’t making things any easier for him. Beside him, Martha was also having to take deep breaths.

“They’ve done this floor, come on” the Doctor said, teeth gritted. “The Judoon are logical and just a little bit thick; they won’t go back to check a floor they’ve checked already. If we’re lucky.”

Martha stopped, and kneeled down next to a woman in a white doctor’s coat, who was holding an oxygen mask to a patient’s face; Ryan recognised her as one of the students from earlier.

“How much oxygen is there?” Martha asked.

“Not enough for all these people,” the student replied between heavy breaths. “We’re gonna run out.”

Anxiety shot through Ryan. The Doctor had come to the same conclusion a while ago, but knowing it and seeing it were two completely different things.

“How are you feeling? You alright?” the Doctor asked, his gaze flicking between Ryan and Martha.

“I’ll manage for now,” Ryan said, truthfully. The Doctor gave him a half-smile.

“Running on adrenaline,” Martha replied.

“Welcome to our world.”

“I’m guessing the Judoon are doing fine,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, great big lung reserves. Lack of oxygen won’t slow them down,” the Doctor confirmed. “Where’s Mr Stoker’s office?”

“It’s this way.”

Martha showed them the office at the end of the corridor, and the Doctor took the lead, silently indicating with his hand that they get behind him, as he entered first. Once the Doctor saw that the coast was clear, he jogged over to Mr Stoker’s body, and pressed a couple of fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. He was a deathly, pale shade of grey, and glassy, lifeless eyes looked back at them.

“She’s gone, she was here,” Martha explained.

“Drained him dry. Every last drop, I was right, she’s a Plasmavore,” the Doctor contemplated.

“Then what’s she doing on Earth?”

“Hiding from the coppers, probably,” Ryan guessed.

“Yep, like Ronald Biggs in Rio de Janeiro,” the Doctor replied. “But what’s she doing now? She’s still not safe. The Judoon could execute us all. Come on!”

The Doctor made a move to leave, and Ryan was about to follow him, but Martha stopped them.

“Wait a minute.”

Martha bent down and shut Mr Stoker’s eyes, and Ryan had more respect for her than he had before. Not that he didn’t respect her before – far from it, in fact – but taking a moment to do something small said a lot.

The Doctor ran his hand through his hair in frustration as they stepped back into the main corridor. “Think, think, think. If I was a wanted Plasmavore surrounded by police, what would I do?”

“Hostage situation?”

“Nah, the Judoon are a bit too one-track minded for that… oh.” Ryan saw where the Doctor’s gaze fell. A red sign with MRI emblazoned in white letters. “She’s as clever as me… almost.”

Suddenly, a bang came from further down the corridor, followed by the screams of people and the grunting orders of Judoon.

The Doctor turned to them, looking deadly serious. “Ryan, Martha stay here. I need time.” His eyes briefly flicked over to Martha, before settling on Ryan. “You’ve got to hold them up.”

“How do you want me to do that?”

The Doctor took both of Ryan’s hands in his. He swallowed, looking down at their joined hands, before making eye contact again. The Doctor’s eyes shone a deep brown, but his expression was unreadable. “I’m going to have to… it’s a, um…”

“What, Doctor?”

“You trust me, Ryan?” he asked quietly and sincerely.

Jesus, how bad was this going to be?

“Yeah, ‘course I do.”

The Doctor took a deep breath. “Okay. ‘Cos this is… this means… oh, you know.”

And before Ryan could even consider what the Doctor was about to do, the Doctor had dropped one of his hands to slide his around to the back of Ryan’s head, slipping his fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. And then the Doctor’s lips were on his.

Ryan’s mouth dumbly dropped in shock, and the Doctor took that opportunity to dart his tongue in and methodically map out the inside of Ryan’s mouth, while moving his lips against Ryan’s still motionless ones. But as Ryan’s brain started working again and he was about to reciprocate, the Doctor pulled away and ran off.

Ryan stumbled back against the wall and took deep, heavy breaths. Definitely not bad. Not bad at all.

Beside him, Martha whistled lowly. “Wow… that was quite the kiss.”

“Um, yeah. Suppose it was.” Ryan pressed the heels of his palms into his face. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled.

“You know what? I believe you now.”

Ryan dropped his hands. “Believe me? About what?”

“You and him, not being together. Especially after that reaction.” Martha grinned conspiratorially. “You’d make a cute couple, though. He’s a bit of a looker, and to be fair, so are you.”

Well. That was a first.

“Not saying I’m interested though,” Martha quickly backpedalled. “In either of you, that is.”

Ryan smiled. “I get you, don’t worry, it’s fine.”

They were interrupted by a squad of Judoon who were marching down their section of the corridor.

“Find the non-human. Execute,” ordered the presumed leader.

Ryan steeled himself and stepped out, facing the Judoon, holding his head high. With a quick glance to the side, he saw that Martha had done the same.

“We know who you’re looking for,” Ryan said evenly. “She’s called um, Miss Finnegan.”

“Florence Finnegan,” Martha confirmed.

The Judoon leader ignored them, focussing on scanning Ryan. Even though the Doctor had said he would be fine, he was still worried, and tried not to let his nervousness show.

“Human,” the Judoon grunted. “Wait! Non-human trace suspected.” The other Judoon pulled out their guns from their holsters and cocked them. “Non-human element confirmed. Authorise full scan.” The Judoon forced him up against the wall. “What are you? What are you?”

Bloody hell, their breath doesn’t half stink, Ryan thought, emulating the Doctor’s tendency to crack a joke when panicked. But he couldn’t help but worry – what if the genetic modification did mean that the Judoon would classify him as non-human? He looked over to Martha; thankfully, she was okay and had been marked as human.

“Confirm, genetically modified human,” the Judoon confirmed, as it drew a black cross on his hand with a marker pen. “Traces of facial contact with non-human. Continue the search!”

Ryan relaxed and sighed in relief. And came to the realisation as to what the kiss was. It was to give him some of the Doctor’s genetic material; much better than being licked, he supposed.

The Judoon handed him an envelope. “You will need this.”

“What is it?”

“Compensation,” the Judoon told him, before marching off.

Well, that was considerate of them.

He nodded to Martha. “We’d better follow after them.”

***

“Confirmation, deceased,” declared a Judoon as they ran into the MRI room.

Please, please don’t let it be the Doctor. Ryan’s heart dropped when he saw who was collapsed on the ground, still. Far, far too still.

No. It couldn’t end like this. It wasn’t supposed to. They hadn’t had enough time.

Ryan shot forwards, avoiding the Judoon’s grasp and dropped to his knees.

“You – you can’t be dead.” His voice cracked. “Please, Doctor, please wake up. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

He reached out to comb his fingers through the Doctor’s hair. “Please wake up. I need you.” He repeated the whispered mantra, ignoring the argument between Martha and the Judoon, not sure if he could find it in him to care about what they were saying.

“…You drank his blood? The Doctor’s blood!” he heard Martha say. He then heard the beeping of a Judoon scanner, and looked at Miss Finnegan, whose face was illuminated blue.

“Oh, I don’t mind, scan all you like.” Ryan just about managed to stop himself from punching the smugness out of her.

“Non-human,” grunted a Judoon.

“What?”

“Confirm analysis.”

“Oh, but that’s a mistake, surely,” Miss Finnegan insisted as all the Judoon scanned her. “I’m human, I’m as human as they come.”

“He gave his life so they’d find you…” Martha said. Ryan looked back down at the Doctor. Of course he had, that selfless, stupid idiot. Why couldn’t he just properly think of a plan, one that worked in the long term as well as the short term?

“Confirm, Plasmavore,” the Judoon barked. “Charged with the crime of murdering the Child Princess of Padrivole Regency Nine.”

“Well, she deserved it,” the Plasmavore hissed. “Those pink cheeks and those blonde curls, and that simpering voice; she was begging for the bite of a Plasmavore.”

“Then you confess?”

“Confess? I’m proud of it! Slab, stop them!” she ordered, barging the Slab in front of her as she went over to the control panel for the MRI scanner. But before the Slab could get anywhere, it was obliterated by a laser beam from a Judoon blaster.

“Verdict: guilty. Sentence: execution!” The Plasmavore ignored them, connecting two cables together, sending the MRI scanner into overload.

“Enjoy your victory, Judoon. ‘Cause you’re gonna burn with me! Burn in hell!” the Plasmavore screamed her final words as the entire squad of Judoon executed her.

“Case closed.”

“But what did she mean, burn with me?” Martha asked.

“Gotta be the scanner…” Ryan breathed out.

The Judoon leader marched over to the MRI scanner, which had bolts of electricity circulating around it. “Scans detect lethal acceleration of mono-magnetic pulse.”

“Well, do something, stop it!” Martha pleaded.

“Don’t think they will,” Ryan mumbled. From what he could tell, the Judoon only cared about catching their criminal and had no sense of responsibility for any collateral damage.

“Our jurisdiction has ended. Judoon will evacuate. All units withdraw!” The Judoon marched out, leaving Ryan and Martha alone with a dead Doctor and an overloading MRI scanner.

“Ryan, what the hell do we do?” Martha cried.

Ryan rubbed his temples in frustration. The lack of oxygen was getting to him and thinking was getting more and more difficult by the second. “The scanner. We need to stop it. Do you know how to use it?”

Martha shook her head solemnly.

“Shit, we need the Doctor.” He placed his hands on Martha’s shoulders. “You can do CPR, right? Please, please save him. He can’t die like this,” he begged.

“I’ll do my best,” Martha told him. “You try stopping the scanner.”

Ryan smiled weakly. “Thank you. I mean it. You didn’t have to do any of this, but you did.”

Martha chuckled quietly. “Is it weird that I sort of enjoyed this? Sorry, you go fix the scanner, I’ll save the Doctor.”

Ryan slowly got to his feet and staggered over to the controls. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Martha had started administering CPR. “He’s got two hearts,” he reminded her.

He turned back to the console. He had seen the Plasmavore join two cables together, except there were two sets of cables in front of him; red and blue. He almost wanted to laugh – why was he faced with an action movie trope? They always went with the red wire in the films, and he was tempted to do that, but what had the Plasmavore done? He tried desperately to remember, but nearly no air was making that extremely gruelling.

Red. He was certain it was red. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, and pulled the red cable apart. The MRI scanner stopped buzzing with electricity, and if there had been a warning alarm, it had stopped. He slumped to the floor, feeling incredibly tired. He tried to stay awake, and rolled onto his back, to get a better view of Martha and the Doctor. It was in vain; his eyes fell shut. Choking coughs were the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Smith, Tyler and Jones: Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Anyone else super excited for the New Year's special, the trailer looks amazing! Anyways, final chapter of this episode, here we go!

He took deep gasping breaths as he was lifted back into consciousness.

He glanced to his right. Martha lay there, slumped on the vinyl flooring. She had saved his life, but there wasn't much he could do for her, or the thousand-odd other people. He just had hope. He quite liked hope. Hoping the Judoon would reverse the H2O scoop in time. Judoon. Plasmavore. MRI scanner. Overloading. He needed to-

Ryan. His brilliant, brave, clever Ryan. The man he would never deserve. He had pulled the plug out the MRI scanner, which was still loosely grasped in his hand, from where he had collapsed, unconscious.

The Doctor slowly crawled over to him, taking rasping breaths with each shuffle. He reached out to cup his cheek, caressing the bone.

"You saved the world today," he whispered, continuing to stroke him.

Impulsively, he brought his hand up to his forehead, brushing his fringe out of the way, and pressed a delicate kiss there.

As he drew back, he couldn't help but think of the Game Station. How he had kissed Ryan's forehead before sending him away to safety, only for him to come back, and then kissing the time vortex out of him (the one detail he had always omitted) and then dying and regenerating. Similar events, just in a different order and under different circumstances.

He knew what could have happened. With the Plasmavore. What did happen. He could keep telling himself that was a genetic transfer, but it was also a dying man's last request. Except the whole dying thing wasn't a certainty, so the metaphor broke down there.

Kissing Ryan had been fantastic. He wanted to do it again. He wanted more, but they couldn't. Even if he ignored everything the Time Lords would have thought.

They always left him in the end, even the ones who had promised him forever. Ryan would live longer than the rest of his companions, but he wasn't invincible, nor could he regenerate. He would still die, one day. Assuming he hadn't left by then. He still hated himself - he had many reasons for hating himself - but specifically for tying Ryan down to him. He didn't have anyone left. Not really. Other than him. A selfish part of him didn't want Ryan to ever leave him. He had carried him out of the darkness and into the light. A sun illuminating a moon, and that moon reflecting beaming light back to the sun. That beaming light. That happiness and pure joy.

Metaphors aside (blimey, he was certainly having a thing for metaphors today), this could all be in vain. He didn't even know if Ryan lo- felt the same way as he did. Friends. He could cope with that. Friends who were cosier than most. But still. Friends.

He caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. Rain. Rain going up. Raining going up, on the Moon. He chuckled to himself. Well, it had to be to himself, there wasn't anyone conscious to hear him. Well, not for another 384,400 km. Approximately. Even then, they wouldn't be able to hear him, as a) sound's longitudinal waves couldn't travel through the vacuum of space, and two, he wasn't loud enough anyway.

He clumsily manoeuvred himself into a low squat position ('arse to grass', as he had once heard some powerlifters say) and scooped Ryan up, one arm under his upper back, the other under his knees.

As he carried him out of the room, he spared once last glance at Martha. She had been good, maybe Ryan would be okay with inviting her along.

Staggering slowly down the corridor, he spotted a linen cupboard. Perfect. They needed somewhere private, tucked away, where Ryan could recover before they snuck out. He didn't want them to get whisked away by paramedics and taken to another hospital. No thanks, he'd had enough of hospitals, and he would be quite happy to not visit any for at least a few decades.

He nudged the door open with his hip, the smell of detergent, cotton and disinfectant assaulting his olfactory receptors. He carefully made his way in and settled Ryan down on the small empty space on the floor. He rummaged around in his jacket for his long trench coat. Once he found it, he folded it up and tilted Ryan's head up, and slid the coat underneath.

The Doctor smiled softly and sighed, then sat down properly, cross-legged. He would wait.

***

Lying on his back. The Doctor's face peering down at him, concerned. This seemed to be happening to him a lot. One more time and it would be a pattern, rather than a coincidence.

"Wha -" Ryan was cut off by his own sudden coughing fit, jerking him upright. The Doctor steadied him, and rubbed a hand over his back.

"How are you feeling?"

Ryan paused, pushing through clouded thoughts to process what the Doctor had asked. "Dunno. Tired, definitely. My chest aches, and my brain feels fuzzy."

"That's the oxygen deprivation. You'll be fine, don't worry, but it'll take a couple of hours for your symptoms to completely subside," the Doctor reassured him.

Ryan hummed, looking around the small room they were in. Tall shelves filled with bedding and towels lined the walls and stretched from floor to ceiling.

"Why're we in a linen cupboard?"

"Thought it would be easier for us to make an escape like this, rather than out in the open. I wasn't sure how long you'd be unconscious for, and having other people check over us would greatly hinder our exit."

"...Right."

Ryan's head was swimming, memories returning to him. Pulling out the plug, Martha resuscitating the Doctor, the Judoon declaring the Doctor dead, finding the Doctor slumped on the ground, unnaturally still. The Doctor kissing him. Actually, forget that, that was snogging, not kissing. He'd very much like the Doctor to do that again, but definitely under different circumstances. But the Doctor wouldn't be able to do that if he was dead.

“You’re alive?”

The Doctor frowned. “Erm, yes? Or at least I was the last time I checked.”

"You bloody idiot," Ryan muttered under his breath.

"What?"

Ryan shifted in his cross-legged position, to look directly at the Doctor and glare at him.

The Doctor swallowed and dropped his hand from Ryan's back.

Ryan took a deep, calming breath. He was angry with the Doctor, there was no denying that, but a shouting match wouldn't resolve anything.

"Next time, please don't do any of this self-sacrificing bullshit. The Judoon literally fucking said you were dead. You're always going on about that superior Time Lord brain of yours-" Ryan stopped himself before he started yelling. He inhaled deeply before quietly continuing. "Please just think of a plan that doesn't involve you dying in any part of it. Even if you regenerate..."

The Doctor looked down at the ground, unable to meet Ryan's eyes. His hand inched towards Ryan's before quickly retracting back. Ryan noticed this and grasped it firmly. Holding hands was the first thing they had done together, even coming before "run". And they weren't going to stop now. Hopefully not ever.

The Doctor looked up again, brown eyes wide. "I'm sorry."

Ryan shook his head. "No, that's not good enough. What's the rest of the universe gonna do - what am I gonna do - if you let yourself die like that? At least let me in on your plans," he pleaded.

"I'll try my best," the Doctor said, his voice sincere. "Promise."

Ryan rubbed his thumb over the Doctor's and smiled. "Thank you. Honestly, it means a lot.” He paused for a minute. “We going back to the TARDIS, then?"

The Doctor hummed an affirmative and got to his feet, helping Ryan up with him, then stuffing his coat back into his jacket. Ryan moved to walk out the linen cupboard, but the Doctor was holding back.

"What?"

The Doctor bashfully tugged on his ear. "What about our post-saving-the-world hug?"

Ryan held his arms out. "Come on, then."

The Doctor closed the small gap between them and lifted Ryan up into a hug, arms around his waist. Ryan's arms fell around his neck, one hand finding its way to the back of his head, fingers sifting through thick, chocolate brown hair.

The Doctor set him down after a couple of moments and held him infinitesimally tighter, nuzzling his cheek against Ryan's.

"You good to walk back?" he mumbled into Ryan's neck.

Despite the day's prior events, Ryan stiffened at the sensation of the Doctor's lips brushing against his bare skin. "Yeah," he whispered. "What about you? No shoes for a couple of miles of tarmac and concrete."

"Superior Time Lord physiology."

Ryan laughed softly. "Should've known you'd say that."

***

After giving Ryan a once over in the TARDIS infirmary, the Doctor had suggested that he take a nap, and Ryan had done just that, after showering and washing off the sweat from running through the hospital.

After a couple of hours of sleep, he rolled out of bed and got dressed into fresh clothes, before wandering off to find the Doctor.

He found him in the kitchen disassembling the toaster.

"I see you've got a new sonic," Ryan remarked. "And you're back in your brown suit. Couldn't you just put on those shoes with your blue suit?"

The Doctor whipped around and nearly dropped his brand-new sonic screwdriver in horror.

"Are you suggesting that I wear blue with cream trainers!?" he exclaimed, his voice a higher pitch than usual. "I would never commit such a crime against fashion!"

Ryan snorted. Most people would never wear trainers with a suit, but this version of the Doctor was confident in his clothing choices and somehow managed to pull it off. He supposed he'd gotten lucky with both this Doctor and his previous Northern self, as he had once spotted a hideous multi-coloured coat when he was in the TARDIS wardrobe, so Ryan had his reservations.

"If you say so."

The Doctor grinned. "I know so!" He enthusiastically showed Ryan his new sonic screwdriver, practically shoving it in his face.

"What do you think of my new sonic?"

Ryan squinted at it. "It looks the same as your old one..." he said slowly.

"That's because it is," the Doctor responded, matter-of-factly.

"If it's exactly the same and you know it all works, then why's the toaster in pieces?"

"Ah, well, yes, the um, the toaster, it could be far more efficient, by two factors of ten in fact, if I change the heating element and swap out the capacitors for-"

Ryan cut off his nervous babble. "Bollocks."

"Er, no Ryan, that would be quite painful."

Ryan chuckled and swatted the Doctor's arm. "Shut up, you know what I meant. Could we at least keep this one in definite working condition so I can have my toast in the morning; there must be some others in storage if you absolutely have to "improve" it."

"Suppose we could, although I've got a much better idea for taking my new sonic for a whirl."

Ryan cocked his head. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"How do you feel about taking Martha Jones with us for a quick trip?"

"Yeah, that’s a great idea, though not like that."

"What you mean 'not like that'?" the Doctor spluttered. "She was very good, calm in a crisis, eager to learn, saved my life -"

Placing a hand on his chest, Ryan wordlessly cut him off. "I meant that it's unfair to just offer her one trip. That's not what you said to me, in that back alley. I'm sure she'll love it, and she'll want to stay."

His hand trailed down the Doctor's front as he spoke, before coming to a rest on the granite countertop between them.

The Doctor cleared his throat. "You're right, sorry, wasn't really thinking."

"Thought that was one of your favourite pastimes."

“And you say I’m rude…”

***

“You sure we’re in the right place?” Ryan asked, looking around the grimy alley in which the Doctor had landed the TARDIS.

“Yep. Positive,” the Doctor replied, holding his hand out for Ryan to take.

Ryan took it, threading their fingers together. “How did you even know where this party was gonna be, anyway?”

The Doctor tapped his nose. “I have my methods.”

As they approached the street, they could hear indistinct shouting, and as they got closer, it became clear that the shouting was in fact arguing. They rounded a corner, and watched as the different members of Martha’s family stormed off in various directions, leaving Martha alone, with the faint music from a club punctuating the newfound silence.

Martha soon spotted them peering around the corner, and gave them a look of confusion. Ryan shot back a friendly smile. He felt the Doctor tugging back on his hand.

“C’mon,” the Doctor mumbled. “She’ll follow.” He led them back towards the TARDIS, and soon enough they could hear the distinct click of high heels on cobbles. Just as they settled back against the TARDIS’s doors, Martha appeared from around the bend, looking bemused.

“I went to the Moon today.”

“Bit more peaceful than down here,” the Doctor snarked. Ryan rolled his eyes, not bothering to call the Doctor out on his rudeness.

“You never even told me who you are, either of you,” Martha said, as she cautiously approached.

“I’m Ryan Tyler, born and raised in Peckham. And he’s, well…” Ryan trailed off. It was best that the Doctor explain who he was.

“I’m the Doctor.”

Oh, so he was going for enigmatic, or intentionally vague; however you wanted to look at it.

Martha persisted. “But what sort of species? It’s not every day I get to ask that.”

“I’m a Time Lord.”

“Right. Not pompous at all, then.” Ryan smirked.

The Doctor waved his finger between himself and Ryan. “We just thought, since you saved my life,” he began, reaching into his jacket for his sonic, tossing it once in hand. “And I’ve got a brand-new sonic screwdriver which needs road-testing, you might want to come with us.”

“Please, our toaster is at stake,” Ryan joked.

Martha raised an eyebrow at Ryan’s comment. “What, into space?”

“Well…”

“But I can’t, I’ve got exams. I’ve got things to do, I’ve got to go into town first thing and pay the rent, I’ve got my family going mad – “

“We travel in time too,” Ryan interrupted. “He forgot to tell me that, the first time.”

“Get out of here.”

“We can,” the Doctor challenged.

“Come on now, that is going too far.”

“We’ll prove it.” And with that, they slipped back into the TARDIS.

“Right, next stop: Chancellor Street, this morning,” the Doctor announced as he sprinted up the ramp, quickly programming their destination into the TARDIS, then flipping the dematerialisation lever.

***

"Do you see her?" Ryan asked. They were in the right place and at the right time (according to the Doctor), but there was no sign of Martha. Yet.

"Hang on," the Doctor said, craning his neck as he scanned the crowd. "Found her!"

Ryan followed the Doctor as he confidently walked up to Martha, blocking her path. “Like so,” the Doctor said, then he slipped his tie off. “See?” he said, holding his tie up.

“You’ll understand later,” Ryan added, before they strode away.

***

They rematerialised in the same alleyway, barely a second after they had left. The Doctor stepped out first, still clutching his tie in his hand.

“You understand now?” Ryan asked, grinning, as the Doctor retied his tie.

“But, that was this morning, but…” Martha replied, incredulously. “Did you? Oh my god! You can travel in time!” she exclaimed. “But, hold on, if you could see me this morning, why didn’t you tell me not to go into work?”

“Crossing into established events is strictly forbidden. Except for cheap tricks,” the Doctor said.

“And even then,” Ryan added. “We basically had to follow a script.”

Martha frowned. “How do you mean?”

“This morning, when we first met in the hospital, you told us where you saw us and what we did, so we had to do exactly that, just now. Otherwise time probably would have gone, I dunno, weird,” Ryan explained, gesturing vaguely.

Martha slowly nodded. “And that’s your spaceship?”

“It’s called the TARDIS,” the Doctor simply stated, as Martha walked up to the TARDIS to touch the door frame. “Time And Relative Dimension In Space.”

“Your spaceship’s made of wood. And there’s not much room, might be a bit too cosy with all three of us.”

Ryan and the Doctor gave each other knowing looks. “You should take a look inside,” Ryan suggested, sidestepping out the way, as the Doctor nudged the door open.

Martha walked in, with Ryan and the Doctor following after, both keen to watch her reaction. Martha’s jaw dropped. “No, no, no…” she said, before backing out.

“But it’s just a box,” they heard her say from outside. “But it’s huge! How does it do that?”

Ryan glanced at the Doctor and saw him smiling, obviously enjoying the moment.

“It’s wood!” Martha continued, rapping the TARDIS with her knuckles. “It’s like a box with that room just crammed in!” She then walked back inside, stopping on the ramp. “It’s bigger on the inside!” she exclaimed, with the Doctor mouthing along with her.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed,” the Doctor said sarcastically, slamming the door shut and throwing his coat onto its usual coral strut as he sauntered up the ramp, towards the console. “Right then, let’s get going.”

Ryan followed him and settled down onto the jump seat. Martha slowly circled the console.

“But, is there a crew?” she asked. “Like, a navigator and stuff, where is everyone?”

“Just us,” the Doctor answered, busy with the controls.

“Sometimes we have friends travelling with us, though,” Ryan added.

The Doctor wandered over to the other side of the console. “Right then. Close down the gravitic anomalyser, fire up the helmic regulator,” he commentated. “And finally… the handbrake,” he said, flipping it. The Doctor moved in front of the jump seat, gripping the dematerialisation lever. “Ready?”

“Yep,” Ryan grinned, bracing himself.

“No!” Martha said, sounding slightly anxious.

“Off we go.” The Doctor pulled the lever down, and was immediately thrown back onto the jump seat, narrowly avoiding landing in Ryan’s lap.

“Blimey, it’s a bit bumpy!” Martha yelled over the rattle of the TARDIS, as she clung to the console.

“You’re gonna have to get used to it!” Ryan hollered back.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Jones,” the Doctor shouted from the jump seat.

“It’s my pleasure, Mr Smith, Mr Tyler!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The Shakespeare Code starts next week.


	6. The Shakespeare Code: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First of all, I'd like to apologise for the shorter chapter, I've had a rough week, but still wanted to get something up for you all.  
> Secondly, I haven't properly edited/proofread this, so if there are any spelling/grammar errors, please tell me so I can fix them!  
> Thirdly, you will probably notice that I have cut/rewritten a fair bit of the dialogue for this chapter (and forthcoming chapters), more so than usual. There's several reasons for this, including but not limited to: the Doctor being rude/ignorant to point where he was OOC (in my opinion); overt racism that doesn't seem to be historically accurate from the research I have done; praising of a certain author now known for being transphobic; and other somewhat questionable lines.  
> With all that said, I hope you enjoy.

“Right Martha, where d’you wanna go first? Past or future?” the Doctor asked.

Martha shrugged. “Erm, I don’t know.” She turned to Ryan. “Where did you go, for your first trip?”

“Future, saw the Earth get burnt up,” Ryan replied.

“Sounds cheerful. Past then, seeing as you went to the future.” She turned back to the Doctor, who was fiddling with various buttons and dials. “But how do you travel in time and what makes it go?”

“Oh, it’s um, very long and complicated. Very, very long and very complicated.” He grinned. “Also, why take all the fun and mystery out of it? Hold on tight!”

Ryan grabbed onto a nearby railing, whereas the Doctor and Martha held onto the console. The TARDIS gave one last violent shudder as they landed, causing Martha to fall to the grating.

“You alright?” Ryan asked her, as she brushed herself off.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” Martha replied. “Bloody hell, d’you have to pass a test to fly this thing?”

“Yes, and I failed,” the Doctor said, as he threw on his trench coat. He backed up against the TARDIS door. “Outside this door… brave new world.”

“Where are we?”

Ryan nudged her as the Doctor opened the door. “Why don’t you find out?”

Martha grinned and walked down the ramp, and out the door, Ryan following a couple of steps behind her.

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Martha exclaimed as the Doctor closed the door behind them. They had landed in a narrow street, lined with what Ryan supposed were Tudor-era houses. It seemed to be the evening, as it was dark but there were still lots of people milling about, both adults and children alike.

“You’re so kidding me,” Martha continued. “Oh my god. We did it! We travelled in time. Where are we? No, sorry, gotta get used to this, whole new language. When are we?”

“Mind out!” the Doctor suddenly said, pulling Ryan and Martha back as a man from above called “gardez-loo” and the contents of his bucket fell in front of him. The Doctor grimaced. “Somewhere before the invention of the toilet. Sorry about that.”

“I’ve seen worse, I’ve worked the late night-shift in A&E,” Martha said. “But are we safe?” she asked as Ryan and the Doctor started to walk off. They turned back to her. “I mean, can we move around and stuff?”

Ryan frowned. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we?”

“Like in those films, you step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race.”

“Why a butterfly?”

“Chaos theory,” the Doctor quickly (and unhelpfully) replied. “And Martha, you don’t need to worry about that, for the most part, time will compensate around it. Although, if it makes you feel better, don’t step on any butterflies. What have butterflies ever done to you?”

He tilted his head down the street, indicating that Ryan and Martha should follow him.

“We in the Tudor times?” Ryan asked the Doctor. “Houses look kinda Tudor-y.”

The Doctor playfully nudged Ryan. “Yep, nice one. Elizabethan period, if you want to be more specific.”

Martha was still concerned. “Yeah, but what if, I dunno, what if I kill my grandfather?”

“Are you planning to?” the Doctor questioned.

“No!” Martha exclaimed.

“Well then.”

“And this is London?” Martha asked, incredulously.

“Think so, Elizabethan, ‘round about, erm, ooh, 1599.”

“Oh, but hold on, am I am alright?” The Doctor and Ryan stopped again and turned to look at Martha. “I’m not going to get carted off as a slave, am I?”

“No, you’re safe,” the Doctor said, firmly. “Tudor England wasn’t as white as history would’ve had you believe.” He nodded towards a couple of black women who had just walked out of a side alley in front of them. “All in all, it’s not so different from your time. Look over there.” He pointed behind them as they strolled down the street. Ryan turned to see a man shovelling manure and hay into a bucket. “They’ve got recycling,” the Doctor elaborated. “Water cooler moment,” he added as the walked past a couple of men chatting by a barrel.

The trio continued, wandering by an elderly man who was shouting at the top of his lungs about the Earth being consumed by flame. “And global warming. Oh yes, and…” The Doctor excitedly skipped in front of them. “Entertainment, popular entertainment for the masses. If I’m right, we’re just down the river, by Southwark, right next to…”

He suddenly took off in a sprint. Ryan shrugged at Martha and they ran after him. They rounded a corner and saw a huge, cylindrical structure down the road, ahead of them.

“Ah yes!” the Doctor exclaimed with enthusiasm. “The Globe Theatre, brand new, just opened! Though, strictly speaking, it’s not a globe, it’s a tetradecagon, fourteen sides, containing… the man himself.”

“Whoa, you don’t mean…” Martha said.

“Who?” Ryan asked. The Globe Theatre sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Martha frowned at him. “Shakespeare, of course.” She turned to the Doctor. “Is he in there?”

“Oh, yes,” the Doctor grinned. “Mr Tyler, Miss Jones, will you accompany me to the theatre?” he asked, proffering his hand to Ryan.

“Mr Smith, I will!” Martha responded eagerly. Ryan simply hummed, nervously glancing at the Doctor’s awaiting hand.

“Is it safe? For us to hold hands, I mean,” he tentatively asked. “Like, no one’s gonna call us sinners and condemn us to an eternity in hell, or we won’t end up getting arrested…?”

“Nope, it’s quite normal for close male friends to hold hands in this time period,” the Doctor replied. “Even extends to hugging, and um, kissing.” He distractedly tugged at his ear lobe. “Perfectly platonic.”

Convinced, albeit still slightly nervous, Ryan slipped his hand into the Doctor’s, lacing their fingers together. “Well, that’s convenient of them.”

“Definitely,” the Doctor agreed. He tugged on Ryan’s hand, leading them onwards. He looked over at Martha. “You know, when you get home, you can tell everyone you’ve seen Shakespeare!”

“And then I could get sectioned!”

***

They had managed to get tickets to watch Love’s Labour’s Won. They were in the Pit, where there was no cover nor seating. The Doctor had explained that was where the poorer people would have to go to watch, and he said it offered a better experience than being seating in the galleries. Ryan agreed, even if the smell was worse than that of a gig in the back room of a pub, but much like those gigs, he was easily able to soak up the atmosphere and enjoy the play – which was Love’s Labour’s Lost.

He had studied a few of Shakespeare’s plays at school, but he was nowhere near as enthused by them as his English teacher, Mr Logan, had been. He had always found the language difficult to understand, and hence the plots tricky to follow, but actually seeing one of Shakespeare’s plays being acted out in its original time period made the whole experience far more enthralling.

As the play finished, the Globe Theatre was enveloped in a deafening applause, which Ryan, the Doctor and Martha were all part of.

“That’s amazing, just amazing!” Martha exclaimed as the actors bowed on stage. “It’s worth putting up with the smell. And those are men dressed as women, yeah?”

“London never changes; in your time, you’ve got the drag scene,” the Doctor replied. “I did drag once, in my eighth body,” he told Ryan.

“Really? What was that like?” Ryan asked, curious.

“Quite liberating, actually.”

“Where’s Shakespeare? I wanna see Shakespeare!” Martha cried. “Author, author!” She turned to the Doctor. “Do people shout that, do they shout author?”

The Doctor shrugged, just as a man behind them shouted “author”. This triggered a chain reaction throughout the whole theatre of people shouting “author”.

“If they didn’t before, they definitely do now,” Ryan laughed.

A man leapt dramatically onto the stage, and the cheering of the crowd increased tenfold as he blew kisses.

“Is that him?” Ryan queried.

“He’s a bit different to his portraits,” Martha commented.

“Yeah, thought he was bald and wore a neck ruffle.”

“Genius!” the Doctor began, as Shakespeare continued to wave and blow kisses to the crowd. “He’s a genius, _the_ genius, the most human human there’s ever been. And now we’re gonna hear him speak!” He grinned excitedly. “Always, he chooses the best words, new, beautiful, brilliant words…”

“Ha! Shut your big fat mouths!” Shakespeare yelled, much to the delight of the Elizabethan locals. Glancing up at the Doctor, Ryan saw that his face had fallen.

“Oh well.”

“You should never meet your heroes,” Martha advised, albeit belatedly.

Ryan lightly nudged the Doctor. “Dickens was alright though, wasn’t he?”

The Doctor shrugged in response as he continued to half-heartedly sulk.

“You’ve got excellent taste, I’ll give you that!” Shakespeare addressed the crowd. “Oh, that’s a wig!” he said, pointing at an unexpecting member of the audience, encouraging jeering from the others.

“I know what you’re all saying, ‘Love’s Labour’s Lost, that’s a funny ending, isn’t it?’ It just stops! Will the boys get the girls? Well, don’t get your hose in a tangle. You’ll find out soon!”

The audience broke out into shouts again, demanding “when”.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shakespeare continued. “All in good time, you don’t rush a genius.” He bowed theatrically, but suddenly jerked upright, looking slightly dazed. “When? Tomorrow night!”

The crowd cheered and applauded in delight, but Ryan couldn’t help but notice the looks of concern flickering between the actors.

“The premier of my brand-new play, a sequel, no less. And I call it… Love’s Labour’s Won!”

The audience were overjoyed, but Ryan could tell the Doctor wasn’t, even without the deep frown painted on his features.

***

“I’m not an expert, but I’ve never heard of Love’s Labour’s Won,” Martha commented as they slowly milled out of the theatre.

“Exactly, the lost play,” the Doctor explained. “It doesn’t exist, only in rumours. It’s mentioned in lists of his plays, but it never, ever turns up. And no one knows why.”

“We found our trouble, then?” Ryan asked, grinning.

The Doctor mirrored his grin. “I think we have.”

“Have you got a mini-disc or something?” Martha enquired. “We can tape it! We can flog it, sell it when we get home, make a mint.”

“No,” the Doctor firmly denied.

“That would be bad?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“But how come it disappeared in the first place?”

“Well, like Ryan said, we found our trouble, so let’s find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, catch you next week with a longer chapter!


	7. The Shakespeare Code: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Don't have much to say, other than I hope you enjoy!
> 
> CW: Light talk about trans related struggles towards the end, nothing transphobic or anything heavy, but mentioning just in case.

The crowd thinned as they got further and further away from the Globe.

“So how do we go about finding out about a missing play?” Martha asked her new friends, whose joined hands swung loosely between them.

The Doctor shrugged one shoulder. “Well, asking Shakespeare himself about it seems to be the best place to start, I mean, it’s not as if we’ve got any other leads.”

“So asking the locals?” Ryan grinned slyly. “Or in other words, the domestic approach?”

The Doctor ran his free hand though his hair. “Shakespeare isn’t exactly local – you heard his accent. He’s from Stratford-Upon-Avon, in Warwickshire.”

“Yeah, and? We’re still gonna be asking him. And where’re we going, anyway?”

“Yeah,” Martha piped up. “Where are we going? You seem to be leading us somewhere.”

“The Elephant. It’s the inn where Shakespeare stays when he’s in London,” the Doctor replied, pulling on his ear.

“Hmm, sounds pretty domestic to me. What do you think, Martha?”

“Erm, yeah, sure.”

Ryan shifted closer to the Doctor as they walked, tilting his chin up to rest it on the Doctor’s shoulder as best he could. “See, told you, domestic. Martha agrees.”

“I never argued otherwise! And now I’m being ganged up on!” The Doctor sniffed. “Fine. You win, et cetera.”

“Aww, you’re so gracious in admitting defeat.”

“Can’t admit defeat if there was no fight in the first place.”

“You literally just said I won!”

“That was just to keep you happy!”

Beside them, Martha couldn’t help but giggle at their antics.

***

Once they arrived at the Elephant, the innkeeper – who introduced herself as Dolly Bailey – directed them upstairs to find Shakespeare, once the Doctor had lied about their identities with the help of his psychic paper.

The Doctor knocked on the open door at the top of the stairs. “Hello! Excuse me, not interrupting, am I?” He strode in, uninvited, with Ryan and Martha trailing after him. “Mr Shakespeare, isn’t it?”

The man in question was sat at a table covered with tankards of ale and numerous sheets of paper. He was accompanied by a couple of men that Ryan recognised as actors from the play they had just watched.

“Oh no,” groaned Shakespeare, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, no, no, who let you two in? No autographs. No, you can’t have yourself sketched with me. And, please, don’t ask where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be good boys and shove…” Shakespeare trailed off when he spotted Martha step out from behind the Doctor.

“Hey nonny, nonny… sit right down here next to me,” Shakespeare said flirtatiously, indicating at a spot next to him on the bench. “You two, get sewing on them costumes, off you go,” he dismissed the two actors.

“Come on, lads,” Dolly wandered in, patting the shoulder of each actor in turn. “I think our William’s found his new muse.” She grabbed a tray from the table and took it away, and the actors left with her.

“Sweet lady,” said Shakespeare to Martha as she shuffled onto the bench with him, while Ryan and the Doctor took the recently vacated chairs. “Such unusual clothes, so… fitted.”

Martha smiled awkwardly. “Um… verily, forsooth. Egads.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” the Doctor said quietly. “Don’t.”

Ryan shot Martha a sympathetic smile; after all, he had made the same mistake in Scotland.

The Doctor whipped out his psychic paper and showed it to Shakespeare. “I’m Sir Doctor of TARDIS, and this is Sir Ryan of the Powell Estate and our companion, Miss Martha Jones.”

“Interesting. That bit of paper, it’s blank,” Shakespeare retorted.

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s… very clever. That proves it. Absolute genius.”

“No, it says right there, Sir Doctor, Sir Ryan, Martha Jones, it says so,” Martha argued.

“And I say it’s blank.”

“It’s psychic paper, shows people what you want them to see,” Ryan quickly explained to Martha. “Unless they’ve had psychic training or are a genius, apparently.”

“‘Psychic’? Never heard that before, and words are my trade. Who are you, exactly?” Shakespeare asked. He turned his intense gaze to Ryan. “Though I must say, _Sir_ Doctor, you do keep some rather interesting company. Especially this boy with his rather exotic shade of hair.”

Ryan scoffed. “’Scuse me, but I’m twenty-one! Not exactly a boy, am I?”

“Ah yes, forgive me, but you have only just reached your manhood,” countered Shakespeare.

“Excuse me! Hold hard a moment!”

Ryan twisted around in his chair to see that they had been interrupted by a bearded man in rather expensive-looking clothing.

“This is abominable behaviour, a new play, with no warning! I demand to see a script, Mr Shakespeare! As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me, before it can be performed!”

“Tomorrow morning first thing; I’ll send it round,” Shakespeare replied, evenly.

“I don’t work to your schedule; you work to mine! The script, now!” the Master of the Revels demanded.

“I can’t!”

“Then tomorrow’s performance is cancelled.”

“It’s all go ‘round here, innit,” Martha commented.

“I am returning to my office for a banning order! If it’s the last thing I do, Love’s Labour’s Won will never be played!” the Master of the Revels spat, before storming out the door.

“So who’s he, then?” Ryan asked, as Dolly came in with four tankards of ale.

“Lynley, Master of the Revels,” Shakespeare replied, taking a swig.

“And Master of the Revels, what’s that?”

“He licences theatres and censors publicly performed plays,” the Doctor explained. “Basically, just checks that a play is suitable for performances, amongst other duties.”

Ryan nodded in understanding and took a sip at his ale.

“Well then, mystery solved. That’s Love’s Labour’s Won over and done with,” Martha said. “Thought it might be something more, y’know, more mysterious?”

All of a sudden, they heard a loud groan and screaming coming from outside. They all leapt out of their chairs and bolted down the stairs, with the Doctor leading the way.

Outside, they found Lynley choking and spluttering water.

“What the hell?” Ryan exclaimed.

The Doctor dashed towards Lynley. “Leave it to me, I’m a doctor,” he told the terrified bystanders.

“So am I, near enough,” Martha added, as she helped the Doctor brace Lynley, who continued to cough up water at regular intervals. Ryan knew he couldn’t do anything other than stand back and watch, so he did, scanning the small crowd for anyone who was looking particularly shifty.

Lynley gave one last groan and abruptly slumped to the floor, lying back on the hay. The Doctor jogged over to Ryan as Martha checked over Lynley.

“Have you seen anything?” the Doctor muttered to him.

“Not yet.”

“Come on.” The Doctor took Ryan back with him to see Lynley. As they crouched over him, another lot of water gurgled from Lynley’s mouth.

“What the hell is that?” Martha hissed.

“I’ve never seen a death like it. His lungs are full of water, he drowned,” the Doctor said in a low voice. “And then, I dunno, like a blow to the heart? An invisible blow.”

He stood up to address Dolly. “Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. A natural, if unfortunate demise. Call a constable, have him taken away.”

“Yes- “

Dolly was stopped by a maid who had been with them in Shakespeare’s room earlier. “I’ll do it, ma’am.”

The maid quickly walked away, and the Doctor rejoined Ryan and Martha.

Ryan frowned. “Sudden imbalance of the humours?”

“And why are you telling them that?” Martha asked.

“This lot have still got one foot in the Dark Ages. If I tell them the truth they’ll panic and think it was witchcraft,” the Doctor quickly explained.

“Right, so what was it?” Ryan questioned.

“Witchcraft.”

***

“How many rooms would you like, Sir Doctor?” Dolly asked, once they were back upstairs in Shakespeare’s room.

“Erm…” the Doctor began, scratching the back of his head.

“Could we have two?” Ryan said quickly.

“Of course, you’ll have the two across the landing.”

“Thanks.”

Dolly nodded and left.

“Poor Lynley,” Shakespeare said, from behind his desk. “So many strange events. Not least of all, a woman who is a doctor? Where are you from?”

“Martha’s from, um, Freedonia,” the Doctor fibbed.

“Where a woman can do what she likes,” Martha added.

“And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?”

“I do a lot a reading,” the Doctor answered in a monotone.

“A trite reply, yeah, that’s what I do.” Shakespeare turned his attention to the youngest man in the room. “But you, Sir Ryan, you intrigue me the most. There’s something different about you, something I cannot quite place. You say you are twenty-one years of age, but your self was born far more recently.”

Ryan swallowed. “I think we should get to bed,” he said nervously, before leaving the room. Martha followed him.

He glanced into the two bedrooms on the other side of the landing. They were similarly decorated, both with small double beds.

“I’m guessing you’re going to be sleeping with the Doctor,” Martha said, before clapping her hand over her mouth. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to phrase it like that.”

“S’okay,” Ryan mumbled, trying to stop his face from reddening further. “We’ll take the right, and you the left?” he suggested. “They’re both the same, pretty much.”

Martha nodded, then the Doctor appeared behind them.

“Right then, team meeting,” he announced, placing a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Which is ours?”

Ryan indicated to the room on the right, and they entered it, with the Doctor making a beeline for the bed. Ryan joined him, sitting down, whereas Martha chose to stand at the foot of the bed.

“So, magic and stuff, that’s a surprise. It’s all a bit Harry Potter,” Martha said.

The Doctor shrugged. “Suppose it is.”

“But is it real though? I mean, witches, black magic and all that, it’s real?” Martha speculated.

“’Course it isn’t!” the Doctor scoffed.

Ryan swatted his leg. “Doctor, you’re being rude. Again.” He turned to Martha. “Sorry, he sometimes forgets that not everyone knows the whole universe inside out.”

“It’s fine,” Martha reassured him. “Think I’m going to bed – do you happen to have a toothbrush on you?”

The Doctor patted his pockets, and produced a toothbrush, much like the one he had given to Ryan the previous night. “Venusian spearmint,” he told Martha, handing her the toothbrush.

“It’s a bit weird, but tastes nice enough,” Ryan added, when he saw Martha’s doubtful look.

Martha smiled. “Thanks. See you both tomorrow.”

And then Ryan and the Doctor were left alone in their room. Ryan got off their bed and went over to a corner. “Doctor, could you, um, turn around?”

“’Course.”

Ryan heard the shuffling of fabric behind him as he pulled off his jacket, t-shirt and binder.

“I’m guessing that’s why you wanted to have separate rooms.”

“Yeah, it is,” Ryan replied, putting his t-shirt back on. “Not sure how I’d explain it otherwise. I mean, I want to come out to Martha at some point, just not now.”

“Yeah, of course. I could do it for you, if you like, or…?”

Ryan turned back around and smiled. “I’ll do it myself. But thanks, though.”

The Doctor’s jacket and tie lay on the foot of the bed, and his trainers were strewn haphazardly across the floor. He had pulled back the blanket and was laid back, patting the other side of the bed in invitation. Ryan joined him, kicking off his trainers on his way and placed his removed articles of clothing next to the Doctor’s, and blew out the only candle, leaving the room illuminated by only the dim moonlight.

“What do you think’s going on?” Ryan asked in a hushed tone, as he pulled the blanket over them and settled down onto his side, facing the Doctor.

He didn’t reply at first, instead holding an arm out, opening himself up. Ryan manoeuvred himself towards him, accepting the Doctor’s silent request for a cuddle. The Doctor spoke again, once they were wrapped in a comfortable embrace.

“There’s such a thing as psychic energy, but a human couldn’t channel it like that, not without a generator the size of Taunton, anyway, and we’d have spotted that.”

Even though Ryan wasn’t looking at the Doctor’s face, he could still see his frown.

“Well earlier, that maid, the one who offered to take away Lynley’s body, she seemed a bit… smug? And I don’t know if you noticed, but in the theatre, when Shakespeare announced Love’s Labour’s Won, he seemed to go stiff and wooden, like a puppet. Only for a moment though.”

“Ooh, I didn’t! Good work, Lewis,” the Doctor said proudly, giving Ryan a quick squeeze.

Ryan grinned. “Thanks, Sarge. Any idea how it all fits together?” he whispered.

“Dunno. Not enough puzzle pieces. Not yet, anyway.”

They fell into silence. Ryan considered just going to sleep, but something was still bugging him.

“What do you think Shakespeare meant?”

The Doctor took a deep breath. “I think he meant what you think he meant. How he knew… latent psychic ability or no latent psychic ability, he’s a very perceptive man.”

“Suppose so. I’m sorry about earlier,” Ryan mumbled.

“What about?”

“I feel bad; I know how much you hate domestics, and- “

The Doctor hushed him, trailing his fingers up and down his back. “I don’t mind doing domestics. So long as it’s with you.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

Ryan tried to ignore the rapid drumming of his heart, and let sleep claim him.

***

A sudden scream shook Ryan from his doze. Beside him, the Doctor shot out of bed and bolted out the door. Ryan was about to follow him, but then he remembered that he had taken his binder off.

He debated going without it, but even after a few hours of being there, he was still feeling anxious about presenting male in the past for the first time - hence decided he was stay put. Although, if there was more noise, or the Doctor didn't come back in about five minutes, he would head out.

However, the Doctor came back a couple of minutes later, looking solemn.

"What happened?" Ryan asked as the Doctor settled back under the covers.

The Doctor rolled onto his side to face him. "Dolly Bailey died. Of fright."

"Oh my god, that's awful..." Ryan trailed off. "I didn't think that was a thing, dying of fright."

"Well, a sudden spike of too much adrenaline isn't very good for the human heart... so it can happen. Oh, and er, Martha saw a witch."

Ryan frowned. "How d'ya mean, 'a witch'? Like cackling on a broomstick?"

"I'd assume so." The Doctor paused and scratched his sideburn. "How come you didn't come along?" he gently asked. "You usually spring into action at the first sign of trouble."

Ryan ducked his head down. "Was gonna, but then I realised I'd have to put my binder back on," he mumbled. "I was gonna follow if you didn't come back after a bit."

"Oh, that didn't occur to me. Sorry."

Ryan mumbled something indiscernible in response.

The Doctor fumbled for Ryan's hand under the blanket and grasped it. "What's wrong?"

Ryan shook his head in frustration. "Fuckin' 'ate bein' trans sometimes."

"Want a hug?" the Doctor quietly offered. Ryan wordlessly accepted, shuffling towards the Doctor, who wrapped his arms around him. Ryan appreciated the Doctor asking, as sometimes the extra physical contact could make him feel worse if he was feeling particularly dysphoric.

The Doctor spoke again after a few moments. "D'you want to talk about it?"

Ryan sighed. "'S just so exhausting, feeling like I have to risk assess everything. Like how I couldn't share a room with Martha without basically outing myself, or how I couldn't come along straight away, just now."

The Doctor didn't respond, but lightly rubbed Ryan's back, encouraging him to continue.

"An' this is my first time in the past being, well, me, I suppose. Presenting male. Even though I haven't had any problems in other time periods, I was still very anxious and still am."

He felt what could have been a kiss being pressed to his hair, before the Doctor held him closer, tucking his head under his chin.

"I think you're incredible," the Doctor whispered. "Being unashamedly and unapologetically who you are, rebelling against your society's rules on gender conformity, and sticking it up to those who say you shouldn't exist. You, Ryan Tyler, represent the very best of humanity. And if even the littlest, tiniest, most miniscule thing is making you feel uncomfortable, please tell me and I'll do absolutely everything in my power to fix it."

Ryan's breath hitched. "Thank you," he murmured. "But you don't have to do all that for me."

"But I want to," the Doctor gently insisted. "You're my best mate. And if anyone ever says anything remotely transphobic to you, I will fight them."

Ryan smiled into his chest. "As much as I'd like to see you try hold your own in a fist fight, I can handle people myself, Doctor. I don't need you to, I dunno, defend my honour."

"I never said you couldn't handle yourself, Ryan. But you don't have to face everything alone; better with two, like you said, remember?"

Ryan nodded, even though he wished the Doctor would take his own advice. "Yeah. 'Night, Doctor."

The Doctor kissed his hair, only this time, Ryan knew - without a doubt - that it was a kiss.

“Goodnight, Ryan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. The Shakespeare Code: Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so very sorry that it's been a while since I've updated. I'm not going to necessarily going commit to a weekly update schedule, as I sorta need to pass this year at uni (already failed it once, oops), but I'm going to be spending more of my free time writing.  
> Also, Revolution of the Daleks! I had a couple of issues with it, but I really enjoyed it overall, and it's definitely one of my favourite episodes of the current era. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Woe, destruction, ruin and decay;  
> The worst is death, and death will have his day.  
> \- Shakespeare's Richard II, 1595

“Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey,” Shakespeare mourned as he paced up and down behind his desk. Ryan glanced to his side; the Doctor was leaning forwards, resting his elbows on the desk, fingers pressed into his temples, deep in thought.

“She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place. We all ran like rats,” Shakespeare continued, taking a seat opposite them. “But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit.”

“Rage, rage against the dying of the light,” the Doctor quoted.

“I might use that,” Shakespeare replied, his interest piqued.

“You can’t, it’s someone else’s.”

“But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you,” Martha pointed out.

“You’re accusing me?” Shakespeare countered.

“No,” Martha denied quickly. “But I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away –“

“On a broomstick?” Ryan asked, curious, leaning past the Doctor to address Martha.

“Yeah!” Martha replied with a slight laugh.

Ryan chuckled. First ghosts, now witches. Only skeletons remained, then himself and the Doctor would have encountered the unholy trinity of Halloween costumes.

Ryan turned his attention back to Shakespeare. “Swear you’ve written about witches.”

Shakespeare frowned. “I have? When was that?”

Not yet then, Ryan guessed. “Maybe that was someone else,” he said quickly. “Still, I reckon you could. Might be a nice idea.”

Shakespeare considered this for a moment. “Peter Streete spoke of witches.”

“Who’s Peter Streete?” Martha asked.

“Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe.”

“The architect,” the Doctor said suddenly, after having been usually quiet during the rest of the conversation. “Hold on, the architect!” he shouted, hitting the table in excitement. “The Globe! Come on!” he continued to shout, grabbing his coat and dashing out the door, leaving no room for anyone to argue.

***

Ryan sat on the edge of stage, swinging his legs idly, with Martha and Shakespeare stood somewhere behind him. The Doctor paced around the now empty (and significantly less pungent) pit, verbalising his thought processes.

“The columns, there, right, and fourteen sides…” The Doctor spun back around to face the stage. “I’ve always wondered but I’ve never asked, tell me, Will, why fourteen sides?”

“It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that’s all. He said it carried the sound well.”

“But fourteen?” the Doctor pondered. “Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen…”

Ryan met his eyes and gave him a shrug – maths had never been his strong suit.

“There’s fourteen lines in a sonnet,” Martha said.

The Doctor started to pace back and forth again, Ryan recognising the signs that came with the Doctor trying to work something out, and link seemingly unconnected facts. “So there is… good point! Words, and shapes, following the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets… oh my head!” He ran his hand through his hair, indicative of his growing impatience and frustration. “Tetradecagon! Think! Words, letters, numbers, lines –“

“But this is just a theatre,” Shakespeare interrupted.

“Oh yeah, but a theatre’s magic, isn’t it?” the Doctor countered, with a gleam in his eye. He approached the stage, resting his forearms on it next to where Ryan sat. “You should know! Stand on this stage, say the right words, with the right emphasis, at the right time. Oh, you can make men weep. Or cry with joy. Change them…”

Ryan frowned. “Change people how?”

The Doctor considered him. “You can change people’s minds, just with words in this place…” he said, slowly. “And if you exaggerate that…”

“It’s like your police box. Small wooden box, but with all that power inside,” Martha said.

The Doctor grinned. “Oh! Oh Martha Jones, I like you!” Ryan wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment, and shot Martha a smile over his shoulder. “Tell you what, though, Peter Streete would know, can I talk to him?”

“You won’t get an answer,” Shakespeare replied, firmly. “A month after finishing this place, he lost his mind.”

“Why, what happened?” Martha asked.

“He started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled.”

“Where is he now?” the Doctor questioned.

“Bedlam.”

That name rang a bell, but Ryan couldn’t place it. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Bethlem Hospital, the madhouse.”

The Doctor fixed his eyes on Ryan, his gaze steely. “We’ve gotta go there, right now,” he said firmly, before turning on his heel and strode away. “Come on!” he called over his shoulder, as Ryan eased himself off the stage and Martha hurried down the steps. They jogged after him, and heard Shakespeare call out, telling them to take him with them, and him giving scripts to a couple of actors on their way into the Globe.

The Doctor slowed his pace a little, to allow the others to catch up, but Ryan could tell he was still stiff with tension. He hadn’t seen him this tense in a while, but two people had already died, seemingly out of the blue. They only knew that they had a connection with Shakespeare, but that wasn’t enough for them to be able to prevent any further losses without immediate action. And then there was also the matter of ensuring that history continued as it should.

Ryan took his hand and rubbed his thumb. The Doctor visibly relaxed a little, giving Ryan’s hand a quick squeeze as a wordless thanks.

Shakespeare soon caught up to them, and immediately seized the opportunity to engage in conversation with Martha.

“So, tell me of Freedonia – where women can be doctors, writers, actors?”

“This country’s ruled by a women,” Martha countered.

“Ah, she’s royal, that’s God’s business – though you are a royal beauty.” Ryan cringed; in all fairness, he’d heard worse lines, but he had hoped that one of the world’s finest writers could have come up with something better.

“Whoa, Nelly. I know for a fact you’ve got a wife in the country!”

Beside Ryan, the Doctor grumbled something unintelligible, before turning back the way they came, tugging Ryan along with him.

“But Martha, this is town,” Shakespeare argued.

“Come on! We can all have a good flirt later!” the Doctor half shouted at them, irritated.

“Is that a promise, Doctor?” Shakespeare hastily asked. “And will you be joining in too, Ryan?” he added, sounding hopeful.

Both Ryan and the Doctor paused for a moment, neither of them expecting such blatant advances from the bard.

“Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air,” the Doctor sighed. “Now move!”

***

They continued down the bustling, narrow streets to Bethlem Hospital. Inside the hospital, they were greeted by a large man, who lead them to what may as well have been a dungeon, even considering it wasn’t underground. They walked down dank, dingy corridors, dimly lit by the occasional flickering candle. Men shrieked and yelled from behind bars, rattling chains. It was heart-breaking; these people were in desperate need of help, but were instead locked up and treated as criminals.

“Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits?” the man asked. “I can whip these mad men, they’ll put on a good show for you. Bandog and Bedlam!”

“No. I don’t,” the Doctor replied, barely hiding his anger.

“Well, wait here, my lords, while I erm,” the man vaguely gestured down the corridor, “make him decent for the lady.”

He turned to walk away, but stopped when Ryan caught his attention. “’Scuse me, but do you think this is right?”

The man turned back around. “Sorry my lord, but this is just my job. I didn’t make the rules.”

“Yeah, but you chose to help uphold them. These people are suffering and you’re making their lives worse, just because the people in charge say so. These people, around us, they need help, and protecting, but instead, you’re just protecting the status quo!”

The man opened his mouth to argue back, but shook his head and walked off.

Ryan felt a hand on his shoulder, and twisted around to see the Doctor giving him a sad smile. He had tried, but he couldn’t change anything; there would still be facilities like this in the future - relative to this time frame. The Doctor was a firm believer in that change could come from the most ordinary person. Ryan agreed with him, but today was not one of those days.

Martha turned to Shakespeare. “He’s right – this what you call a hospital, yeah? Where patients are whipped to entertain the gentry. And you put your friend in here?”

“Oh, it’s all so different in Freedonia,” Shakespeare replied, mockingly.

“But you’re clever! D’you honestly think this place does any good?”

“I’ve been mad, I’ve lost my mind. This fear of this place set me right again, it serves its purpose.”

“Mad in what way?”

“You lost your son.”

Ryan glanced up at the Doctor. His expression had been carefully constructed to appear neutral, but Ryan had known him long enough to see the subtle sadness in his eyes.

_I was a dad once._ That’s what the Doctor had said, back in 2012, in Stratford. Too shocked by the very weird and alien concept of the Doctor having had children, it had never properly occurred to Ryan that the Doctor would have lost them in the Time War. Ryan had never seen the Doctor properly grieving for those he had lost – he would have the occasional moment, where he grew quiet and still, but then continued as if nothing had ever happened.

Ryan wished he could do something for him, telling him it was okay to be sad, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t his business, and if the Doctor wanted to talk about his children, then he would.

“My only boy,” Shakespeare elaborated, solemnly. “The Black Death took him. I wasn’t even there.”

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Martha apologised.

“It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be… ooh... that’s quite good.”

“You should write that down,” the Doctor suggested.

“Hmm, maybe not. Bit pretentious.”

“Nah, I reckon you should,” Ryan said. “Think it’ll be quite recognisable, in the future.”

Their conversation was halted by the holler of the large man. “This way, my lord!”

He showed them to a cell, unlocking it with a key from a large, saturated keyring. Inside, a man sat hunched over on a bench, his hair long, mussed and greasy, and his thin, malnourished frame dressed in rags.

“They can be dangerous, my lord. Don’t know their own strength.”

“I think it helps if you don’t whip them,” the Doctor snapped. “Now get out.”

Wordlessly, the man left them, locking the cell door behind him.

The Doctor tentatively walked around to the other side of the cell. “Peter… Peter Streete?”

“He’s the same as he was,” Shakespeare as the Doctor crouched down in front of Peter. “You’ll get nothing out of him.”

The Doctor reached out to touch him on the shoulder. “Peter.”

Peter bolted upright, shaking in fear. The Doctor shifted his fingertips onto Peter’s temples.

“Peter, I’m the Doctor. Go into the past. One year ago. Let your mind go back. Back, to when everything was fine and shining. Everything that happened in this year since, happened to somebody else. It was just a story, a winter’s tale. Let go… that’s it.”

Peter inhaled sharply then seemed to relax, the Doctor guiding him to lay down on the bench.

“That’s it… just let go…” The Doctor stood upright. “Tell me the story, Peter,” he said, firmly, “Tell me about the witches.”

Peter began, his voice shaky. “The witches… spoke to Peter. In the night, they whispered… whispered…” He started to wiggle his fingers by his ear, scratching at thin air. “Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. _Their_ design. The fourteen walls. Always fourteen.”

Everyone else glanced up at the Doctor; he had been right about the fourteen sides being important.

Peter continued. “When the work was done…” He started to laugh, manically. “They snapped poor Peter’s wits…”

“But where did Peter see the witches?” the Doctor questioned. “Where in the city?”

Peter started to shake again, taking deep gulps of air. The Doctor crouched down again. “Peter, tell me. You’ve got to tell me, where were they?”

“All Hallows Street.”

“Too many words…”

Ryan jumped. “Fucking hell!”

An old hag had appeared out of thin air, right next to the Doctor. He took several steps back.

“Just one touch of the heart,” croaked the witch, delicately raising a single finger.

“No!” the Doctor yelled, as she brought it down to Peter’s chest. He instantly fell still. Dead.

“Witch! I’m seeing a witch!” Shakespeare cried, pointing a finger at said witch.

“Now who would be next, hmm? Just one touch,” the witch cackled. “Oh, oh I’ll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals.”

“Let us out!” Martha screamed, rattling the bars of the cell.

“Well that’s not gonna work, the whole building’s shouting that,” the Doctor snarkily commented.

“Who would die first? Hmm?”

The Doctor took a step forward. “Well, if you’re looking for volunteers,”

“Don’t you dare!” Ryan said, through gritted teeth.

“Doctor, can you stop her?” Shakespeare nervously asked.

The witch looked at him. “No mortal has power over me.”

“Oh, but there’s a power in words. If I can find the right one, if I could just know you…”

The witch stood further upright, falsely confident in the power she assumed she had over her enemy. “None on Earth has knowledge of us.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” the Doctor replied, leaning back away from the witch’s approaching finger. “Now, think, think, think. Humanoid, female, uses shapes and words to channel energy,” he quietly listed off. “Ah!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger in return. “Fourteen! That’s it! Fourteen! The fourteen stars of the Rexel Planetary Configuration!”

The witch started to whimper in fear. “Creature, I name you… Carrionite!” the Doctor spat. The Carrionite cried out in pain and disappeared in a flash of light.

“What the hell did you just do?” Martha asked, a moment after everyone had caught their breaths.

“I named her,” the Doctor explained. “The power of a name. That’s old magic.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Just yesterday you were saying that magic isn’t real.”

“Well, it’s just a different sort of science. You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words, instead.”

“Use them for what?” Shakespeare asked.

“The end of the world.”

***

They made their way back to the Elephant Inn, to Shakespeare’s room. The man himself was washing his face, as Ryan and Martha watched the Doctor pace back and forth.

“The Carrionites disappeared, way back at the dawn of the universe, nobody was sure if they were real or legend.”

“I’m going for real,” Shakespeare firmly said.

“But what do they want?” Martha interjected.

“Yeah, you said ‘end of the world’, Doctor, but like, how?” Ryan added.

The Doctor stopped pacing, and sat down on top of a desk, next to Ryan. “A world of blood and bones and witchcraft… and how…” He stared at Shakespeare. “I’m looking at the man with the words.”

Shakespeare stopped towelling his face dry. “Me? But I’ve done nothing.”

“Hold on though, what were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room?” Martha questioned.

“Finishing the play.”

The Doctor sat up straighter. “What happens on the last page?”

“The boys get the girls, they have a bit of a dance, it’s all funny and thought-provoking as usual… except those last few lines. Funny thing is, I don’t actually remember writing them.”

The Doctor stood up, and slowly walked towards Shakespeare. “That’s it! They used you. They gave you the final words, like a spell, like a code! Love’s Labour’s Won, it’s a weapon!” the Doctor shouted. “The right words, spoken in the right place, with the shape of the Globe as an energy converter. The play’s the thing! And yes, you can have that!” he added, before hurrying out of the room.

Martha turned to Ryan. “Where’s he going?” she asked.

Ryan shrugged. “Dunno. But I reckon we’re gonna be making a trip to All Hallows Street, so he’s probably gone to get a map.” He sighed. “Always the London landmarks though,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

“How d’you mean?”

“The London Eye, Downing Street, Battersea Power Station, Alexandra Palace, Canary Wharf…” He swallowed before continuing. “Thames Barrier, and now the Globe. Aliens like to use them as secret bases, or transmitters. Stuff like that.”

“But hang on, Downing Street blew up a couple of years ago… you were there?” Martha questioned.

“Yeah, we were. Turns out the cabinet room is lined with steel, pretty useful when you’re about to be hit by a missile. We fired it though, well, it was actually my friend, Mickey. The Doctor helped him hack into the navy. Didn’t have a choice – there were also aliens in Number Ten, trying to get their hands on the nuclear codes, and we needed to stop them. Fast.”

Martha’s eyes widened in wonder and was about ask more questions, when the Doctor walked in, unfurling a map onto a desk. He quickly scanned the map.

“All Hallows Street, there it is,” he said, pointing at the map. “Ryan, Martha, we’ll track them down, Will, you get to the Globe; whatever you do, stop that play!” he said with urgency.

“I’ll do it!” Shakespeare replied, determined. “All these years I’ve been the cleverest man around. Next to you, I know nothing!” he said, shaking the Doctor’s hand.

“Oh, don’t complain,” Martha chuckled.

“I’m not, it’s marvellous! Good luck, Doctor!”

“Good luck, Shakespeare! Once more unto the breach!” the Doctor called out, grabbing his coat as Ryan and Martha followed him out.

“I like that!” they heard Shakespeare say. “Wait a minute, that’s one of mine!”

The Doctor stopped, and peered around the doorway. “Oh, just shift!”

They hurried down the winding roads to All Hallows Street.

They knew what would await them, and it couldn’t end in defeat.

Woe, destruction, ruin and decay;

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments are super appreciated! I love reading them and they help motivate me!


	9. The Shakespeare Code: Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of this episode, hope you enjoy!

“All Hallows Street,” the Doctor announced as they slowed their jog to a walk. “But which house?”

“You don’t reckon they’ll have a carved pumpkin outside their door?” Ryan joked. The Doctor shot him an amused smirk.

“Thing is though,” Martha interrupted. “Am I missing something here? The world didn’t end in 1599, it just didn’t. Look at me and Ryan, we’re living proof.”

“Oh, how to explain the mechanics of infinite temporal flux,” the Doctor sighed. “I know! Back to the Future! It’s like Back to the Future!”

“The film?”

“Yep! Marty McFly goes back and changes history…”

“And he starts fading away!” Martha stilled. “Oh my god, am I gonna fade?”

The Doctor grew serious and quiet. “You, Ryan, and the entire future of the human race… it ends, right now, in 1599, if we don’t stop it.” He refocused on their surroundings. “But which house?”

As they were cluelessly looking around the street, a door creaked open and hit a wall with a rattle as it came to a halt.

The Doctor lightly elbowed Ryan. “Make that ‘witch’ house,” he said, too proud of himself.

Ryan sighed, albeit with a grin on his face. “Not your best,” he replied, patting the Doctor on the arm.

They entered the house, pulling back a burlap curtain to reveal the main room of the house. Candles dimly illuminated the room, displayed haphazardly with no logical order to their layout. Cobwebs hung from nearly every surface. A couple of cauldrons bubbled away, amongst some of the other spooky paraphernalia. The maid (now presumed Carrionite) they had seen at the Elephant Inn stood in the middle of it all, dressed in black robes.

The Doctor stood tall, front and centre, with his hands confidently tucked into his pockets. “I take it we’re expected?”

“Oh, I think death has been waiting for you a very long time,” the Carrionite countered.

“Right then, it’s my turn.” Martha tapped the Doctor’s arm, and took a step forwards. “I know how to do this.” She quickly raised her right arm, pointing her index finger. “I name thee… Carrionite!”

The Carrionite gasped, but instead of disappearing in a flash of light, she just smiled slyly.

“What did I do wrong, was it the finger?” Martha asked the Doctor.

“The power of a name only works once,” the Carrionite explained. “Observe. I gaze upon this bag of bones, and now I name thee Martha Jones!”

Martha promptly passed out, the Doctor catching her on the way down.

“What have you done?!”

“What the hell did you just do?!” Ryan demanded, marching towards the Carrionite. She ignored Ryan’s sharp glare, gazing past him at Martha’s slumped form.

“Only sleeping, alas,” she observed. “It’s curious, the name has less impact, she’s somehow out of her time…” Her eyes snapped to Ryan. “And as for you, pretty boy…”

Ryan watched nervously as the Carrionite raised a finger to touch his face.

“Ryan, get back!” the Doctor growled. Ryan broke out of his reverie, stumbling backwards as he nearly tripped over the uneven floorboards.

The Carrionite grinned conspiratorially, as if she knew something they didn’t. “You have so many names; I didn’t know which to choose. The little king, the wilted flower in a bush of thorns…” She paused, before whispering. “The Bad Wolf.”

Ryan swallowed sharply. “Aren’t you afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level as he bluffed.

The Carrionite saw through his falsified confidence. “Not today, nor ever,” She smirked, slowly raising a finger again.

“Don’t you dare!” the Doctor yelled, preemptively taking hold of Ryan’s upper arms.

“For I now know this outsider, and I name him Ryan Tyler!”

***

The Doctor felt Ryan fall limp against him, his head lolling against the Doctor’s chest. He gently lowered Ryan to the floor, one hand under his head. The Doctor carefully laid Ryan’s head down, tracing along his jaw with two fingers, down to his pulse point. Slower than usual, but steady. Just lost consciousness, like Martha.

He gave Ryan one final look before swivelling on his feet, letting his anger boil up inside him as he slowly stood.

“Have I struck a nerve?” the Carrionite said, mockingly.

The Doctor scowled at her. “The Carrionites vanished, where did you go?” he spat out.

The Carrionite turned, striding away from him. “The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness.”

“Then how did you escape?” the Doctor demanded, allowing his fury to flow freely through him.

She faced him again. “New words, new and glittering. From a mind like no other.”

“Shakespeare.” A cauldron caught the Doctor’s eye, an image of a grieving Shakespeare projected onto the surface of the bubbling liquid.

“His son perished. The grief of a genius; grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance.”

“How many of you?”

“Just the three,” the Carrionite said quickly, turning away from him again. “But the play tonight shall restore the rest. Then the human race will be purged, as pestilence. And from this world, we will lead the universe back into the old ways of blood and magic.”

The Doctor scoffed as he slowly approached. “You won’t be getting any of that, not while I’m in your way.”

The Carrionite closed the gap between them, getting far too close for the Doctor’s comfort. “Removing you should be a pleasure, considering my enemy has such a handsome shape.”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably as the Carrionite stroked from his temple down to his sideburn. In that moment, the Doctor decided that no one other than Ryan was ever allowed to touch his face in such a manner. Not that Ryan ever had, but still, the Doctor would not object to any strokes of Ryan’s to his face. In fact, he imagined he would quite enjoy it.

He heard a sudden snip from behind his ear, and the Carrionite backed away towards a window, with a lock of his hair in between her fingers.

“What was that for, what did you do?” the Doctor questioned.

“A souvenir…”

“Well give it back!” he demanded.

The Carrionite ignored him, dramatically throwing her arms up in the air, causing the window to swing open. She flew backwards out of the open window. The Doctor sprinted towards her.

“Well that’s just cheating,” he muttered, braced against the windowsill.

“I couldn’t find your true name, Sir Doctor, unlike those others,” the Carrionite smiled menacingly. “But see also, men, to Carrionites, are nothing but puppets.” She held up a small doll, and started to wind the Doctor’s hair around it.

“Now, you might call that magic, I’d call that a DNA Replication Module.”

“What use is your science now?” She stabbed the doll with a needle, and the Doctor cried out in pain, dropping onto the floor.

***

Ryan stirred into consciousness to hear the Doctor grunting and groaning. He pushed himself upright to see Martha striking the Doctor on the back.

“What happened?”

The Doctor’s eyes lit up and he bounced to his feet, then ran over to Ryan.

“Oh, one of my hearts was stopped, but Martha got it started again, so it’s all fine,” he grinned, then softened his gaze. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan smiled back. “I’m good.”

The Doctor held a hand out for Ryan to take, and helped him to his feet. They shared a brief hug, before remembering the dire situation, and the trio quickly left for the Globe.

After a couple of wrong turnings (the Doctor’s fault), they could see the Globe in the distance, with fiery red smoke lighting up the night sky. People were screaming as they fled away from the theatre.

“I told thee so! I told thee!” shouted the man who had been ranting and raving about the world ending when they had first arrived in Elizabethan London. They pointedly ignored him, watching the Globe.

“Stage door!” the Doctor yelled over the commotion.

They sprinted the rest of the way to the Globe, slipping through the stage door at the back. Inside, they found Shakespeare slouched against the wall, nursing his head.

“Stop the play! I think that was it. Yeah, I said, ‘Stop the play!’” the Doctor lambasted.

“I hit my head…” Shakespeare moaned.

“Yeah, well don’t rub it, you’ll go bald…”

A loud scream pierced the air. “I think that’s my cue,” the Doctor commented, before running out onto the stage. Ryan grabbed Shakespeare by the wrist, pulling him along with them.

Out on the stage, battered by wind, they watched as the three Carrionites activated a crystal ball from the gallery. Hundreds and thousands of Carrionites flew from it like birds, with a crack of vivid red lightning. The wind speed increased drastically, nearly drowning out the screams of bystanders and the cackling laughter of the Carrionites.

Shakespeare started to back away, but the Doctor took hold of him, dragging him back.

“Come on, Will! History needs you!” the Doctor shouted.

“But what can I do?” Shakespeare yelled back.

“Reverse it!”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“The shape of the Globe gives words power, but you’re the wordsmith – the one true genius, the only man clever enough to do it!”

“But what words? I have none ready.”

The Doctor swatted him on the arm. “You’re William Shakespeare!”

“But these Carrionite phrases, they need such precision.”

“Trust yourself,” the Doctor told him. “When you’re locked away in your room, the words just come, don’t they, they’re like magic. Words, with the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm, words that last forever! That’s what you do, Will, you choose perfect words, do it! Improvise!”

The Doctor took a few steps back, to stand next to Ryan and Martha, allowing Shakespeare to take centre stage.

“Close up this din of hateful dire decay! Decomposition of your witches’ plot. You thieve my brains, consider me your toy, my doting Doctor tells me I am not! Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show between the points…” Shakespeare stalled, turning to the Doctor for the coordinates.

“Seven six one three nine o,” the Doctor supplied.

“Seven six one three nine o,” Shakespeare repeated. “And banished like a tinker’s cuss, I say to thee…”

He turned to the Doctor for assistance again. Ryan tried to help, assuming Shakespeare wanted a word that rhymed with ‘cuss’, but he couldn’t think of anything, nor could the Doctor, whose mouth hung open uselessly.

“Expelliarmus!” blurted out Martha.

“Expelliarmus!” repeated Shakespeare, gesticulating wildly.

This seemed to do the trick, as the Carrionites in the gallery cried in defeat, and the hundreds of Carrionites swooping in the air were sucked up into the sky like dust into a vacuum cleaner. From behind the stage, thousands of sheets of paper assaulted soared past them, following the Carrionites into the sky, all evidence of their attempt at destroying the Earth cleaned up.

“Love’s Labour’s Won,” the Doctor mused. “There it goes.”

With a final crack of lightening, the sky closed up, and the night returned to a steady black.

Gasps echoed through the audience, followed by a tentative applause, that only grew louder and louder, until the entire audience was clapping and cheering. The Doctor darted offstage, leaving Ryan and Martha to accept the audience’s ovation alongside Shakespeare and a couple of actors.

“They think it was all think was all special effects,” Martha breathed out.

Shakespeare turned to her. “Your effect is special indeed.”

“That’s not your best line.”

Ryan snorted. “Not as bad as ‘royal beauty’, though.”

Shakespeare rolled his eyes, and they all held hands and bowed to their audience.

***

“This is brilliant, Ryan!” the Doctor practically squealed in excitement. “How often do you get to look around the props store of _the_ Globe Theatre?”

Ryan scrunched his face up in thought. “I dunno, as often as you like, I guess, seeing as you’ve got a time machine. Although… knowing your driving, we’d be lucky to even end up here again,” he teased, grinning cheekily.

The Doctor sniffed. “I’d like to see you try.”

Ryan laughed. “Nah, you wouldn’t, cos I’d do a better job than you.”

“And then you’d never shut up about it!”

They both broke out into peals of laughter, leaning on each other for support.

***

“Good props store, back there,” the Doctor said, as they walked onto the stage, where Martha seemed to be having a moment with Shakespeare. “Not sure about this, though,” the Doctor continued, looking down the at the animal’s skull in his hand.

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Ryan asked.

“Doesn’t it remind you of a Sycorax?”

“Oh yeah, course it does!” Ryan smiled at the memories of this new new Doctor saving the world for the first time, and the Christmas they shared together, with his mum and Mickey.

“Sycorax? Nice word,” Shakespeare commented. “I’ll have that off you as well.”

“I should be on ten percent,” the Doctor replied. “How’s your head?”

“Still aching.”

“’Ere. I got you this. Neck brace.” The Doctor took off the neck ruff he was wearing and put it around Shakespeare’s neck, fixing it at the back. He took a step back. “Wear that for a few days, till it’s better. Although, you might want to keep it, suits you.” Ryan agreed, Shakespeare now shared a far greater resemblance to the man who had stared back at Ryan from his sheets of photocopied poems.

“What about the play?” Martha enquired.

“We looked,” Ryan replied. “No copies left.”

“My lost masterpiece,” Shakespeare said, solemnly.

“You could write it up again,” Martha suggested.

The Doctor grimaced slightly. “Yeah, better not, Will. There’s still power in those words, maybe it’d just best stay forgotten.”

Shakespeare smiled. “Oh, but I’ve got new ideas. Perhaps it’s time I wrote about fathers and sons. In memory of my boy. My precious Hamnet.”

“Hamnet?” Martha frowned.

“That’s him.”

“Ham… net?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Anyway,” the Doctor interrupted. “Time we were off. I’ve got a nice attic in the TARDIS, where this lot can scream for all eternity.” He picked up the crystal ball, where the three Carrionites were howling inside, clawing at the glass. “And er, we’ve got places to go. Things to see. People to meet.”

“You mean travel on through time and space?”

Ryan’s jaw dropped open.

“You what?” the Doctor uttered.

“You’re from another world, like the Carrionites,” Shakespeare elaborated. “Ryan and Martha are from the future. It’s not that hard to work out.”

The Doctor was (almost) rendered speechless. “That’s… incredible. You are incredible!”

“We’re alike in many ways, Doctor. Martha.” Shakespeare turned back towards her. “Let me say goodbye to you with a new verse. A sonnet for my beautiful lady.”

Shakespeare started reciting a sonnet, while the Doctor and Ryan watched on, with varying degrees of patience (Ryan: a lot. The Doctor: practically none). They could hear the approaching click of horse hooves in the distance.

“Will! Will! You’ll never believe it!” Two actors burst into the theatre. “She’s here! She’s turned up!”

“We’re the talk of the town,” the other actor smiled proudly. “We’re the talk of the town. She heard about last night, she wants us to perform it again!”

“Who’s that?” Ryan asked.

“Her Majesty, she’s here!”

A fanfare played, and the Queen walked in, flanked by guards.

“Queen Elizabeth the First!” the Doctor exclaimed, his voice in his excited higher pitch.

“Doctor!” she croaked.

His face started to fall. “What?”

“My sworn enemy!”

“What?”

“Doctor, what the fuck have you done?” Ryan half-yelled.

Queen Elizabeth spotted him. “And Ryan, that little sodomite!”

Ryan froze in shock. “What the fuck have _I_ done?” he asked no one in particular, other than perhaps himself.

“Off with their heads!”

“What?!” Ryan and the Doctor both exclaimed in unison.

“Well never mind what, just run!” Martha cried. The Doctor and Ryan snapped out of their stupor and followed Martha behind the stage. “See you Will! And thanks!” Martha called out.

They ran, weaving through the streets, making a beeline to the TARDIS, ignoring the shouts of guards behind them.

“What have you two done to upset her?” Martha asked as they ran.

“How should I know; we haven’t even met her yet!” the Doctor replied. “That’s time travel for you! Still, can’t wait to find out!” He unlocked the TARDIS, and Martha and Ryan piled in. “That’s something to look forward to!”

And onwards they ran, to their next adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case, the name Ryan means little king.  
> Thanks for reading, comments are super appreciated :)


	10. Gridlock: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I've gotten back into my groove now and am experimenting with longer chapters. Enjoy!

“You’ve been to the past, how do you fancy the future?” the Doctor asked Martha, with a glint in his eye.

“No complaints from me!” Martha replied, from where she was perched on the jump seat, next to Ryan.

“How about… a different planet?” the Doctor proposed, grinning conspiratorially.

“Can we go to yours?”

Unbeknown to Martha, those five simple - seemingly innocent - words, were enough to crumble the jovial atmosphere. Ryan glanced at the Doctor and saw his face fall. They made eye contact briefly, before the Doctor swiftly broke it, moving around the console to flip another lever.

Ryan was torn. He could tell Martha to stop asking about Gallifrey and save the Doctor from reliving too many painful memories, but the young medical student was curious and would want to know why. But it wasn’t Ryan’s story to tell, and he didn’t want to force the Doctor into a corner.

He couldn’t do that, though. Those memories, that pain, was the Doctor’s, not his. He didn’t have the right to assume what the Doctor did or didn’t want. No one does, for anyone. But he knew the Doctor. That man could dodge and deflect unwanted questions like a dodgeball player on a world championship-winning team.

So Ryan decided to let the scene play out in front of him. If the Doctor wanted a hand to hold, Ryan would be there in a heartbeat.

“Aah, there’s plenty of other places,” the Doctor replied, his face down. Deflection.

Martha jumped off the seat and followed the Doctor to the other side of the console. “Aw, come on, though. I mean, planet of the Time Lords, that’s gotta be worth a look. What’s it like?”

“Well, it’s beautiful, yeah.” Vagueness.

“Is it like, you know, outer space cities, all spires and stuff?” Martha asked, her eyes shining in wonder.

“Suppose it is.” His face fell fractionally, unnoticeable unless you were watching him very closely.

“Great big temples and cathedrals?” Martha continued, grinning.

“Yeah.” Ryan didn’t miss the slight wobble in the Doctor’s reply. He pushed himself off the jump seat and walked over to the Doctor’s other side - nonchalant as he could – and discreetly wrapped his hand around the Doctor’s elbow. The Doctor acknowledged him with a slight upward quirk of the corner of his mouth.

“Lots of planets in the sky?” asked Martha insistently, leaning against the console.

The Doctor’s hands stilled over the controls. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, before looking up again, towards Martha.

“The sky’s a burnt orange… with the Citadel enclosed in a mighty glass dome, shining under the twin suns,” the Doctor began, a shade above a whisper. Ryan watched him in awe – he had heard the Doctor describe his home planet before, and he was always captivated by the serenity in the Doctor’s voice. “Beyond that, the mountains go on forever, slopes of deep red grass, capped with snow…” the Doctor trailed off, pausing for a couple of seconds before busying himself with the controls again, the moment gone.

“Can we go there?” Martha pushed.

The Doctor’s head snapped up. “Nah, where’s the fun for me? I don’t wanna go home! Instead…” He turned to Ryan. “How about New Earth?”

Ryan smiled. “Yeah, seeing as we didn’t see all that much last time.”

Martha frowned. “You’ve been there before?”

“Yeah we have, about a year ago, but we didn’t see much. Just a hillside and a hospital. But it was very space-age – you’ll love it!” he reassured her.

“Alright then!” the Doctor announced. “The year five billion and fifty-three, planet New Earth!” He threw the TARDIS into gear, and they shook violently for a few seconds before landing. “The second home of mankind, fifty thousand light years from your old world, and we’re slap bang on the middle New New York,” he continued as he grabbed his trench coat off a coral pillar and slipped into it.

“But it’s the fifteenth New York since the original,” Ryan added as he strolled over to the ramp.

“Which makes it New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York, one of the most dazzling cities ever built.” The Doctor opened the TARDIS doors, and let Martha take the first step out.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Martha exclaimed sarcastically. “Time Lord version of dazzling.”

Ryan and the Doctor followed after, and Ryan immediately understood what she meant. It was pouring down with rain, and his denim jacket was nearly instantly soaked. The Doctor pulled an arrow off the TARDIS and locked the door.

“Wish I’d put on my raincoat,” Ryan mumbled, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

“Nah, bit of rain never hurt anyone,” the Doctor replied with his usual chirpiness. “Come on, let’s get undercover!”

The Doctor grabbed Ryan’s hand and the trio ran down the narrow, dingey alleyway. The alleyway soon opened up into a gritty, more open, area. Buildings constructed out of dirty bricks towered over them, making the area still feel claustrophobic, despite the extra breathing room. The torn and tattered remains of a market stall stood in the corner, a ghost of a livelier past.

“Well, it looks like the same old Earth to me,” Martha grumbled. “On a Wednesday afternoon.”

The Doctor spotted a terminal and tugged Ryan over to it. “Hold on, hold on, let’s have a look.” They huddled under the small awning, and the Doctor dropped Ryan’s hand to fish out his sonic, to use on the terminal. He rapped the screen with his knuckles a few times, and an image flickered onto the screen.

“ _And the driving should be clear and easy, with fifteen extra lanes open for the New New Jersey Expressway_ ,” a newsreader told them, and the image changed again.

“That’s more like it, that’s the view we had last time!” the Doctor exclaimed, tapping the screen, which was displaying the view they had of the city, from near the hospital. Ryan remembered that part of their previous trip most fondly; laid out on the Doctor’s long coat, the delicate scent of apple grass, and light conversation about chips and first dates. The rest of the day… well. That just bounced between headaches, embarrassment, frustration, and downright mortification.

“So where are we, then?” Ryan asked.

“Must be the lower levels,” the Doctor replied. He ducked out from under the awning, and looked up at the buildings around them. “We’re down at the base of the tower, some sort of undercity.”

“You’ve brought us to the slums?” Martha questioned, sounding very unimpressed.

“Much more interesting! It’s all cocktails and glitter up there. This is the real city.”

“You’d enjoy anything!”

“That’s us!” the Doctor grinned, taking hold of Ryan’s hand again. “Ah, the rain’s stopped. Better and better!”

They walked back into the open, looking around, unsure of where to go next. All of a sudden, hatches flew open all around them, revealing the pushy salespeople behind them.

“Oh, you should’ve said. How long have you been there?” a man exclaimed. “Happy, you want Happy? Happy, Happy!”

They heard another voice from behind them. “Customers, customers! We’ve got customers!”

“- We’re in business! Mother, open up the Mellow!”

“- Happy Happy, lovely Happy Happy!”

“- Anger! Buy some Anger!”

“- Mellow, makes you feel bendy and soft all day long!”

“- Don’t go to them, they’ll rip you off! Do you want some Happy?”

“No thanks,” the Doctor replied, darkly.

“Are they selling drugs?” Martha asked.

“I think they’re selling moods.”

“Suppose that’s the same thing at the end of the day,” Ryan murmured.

Another person appeared from a different alleyway, a young woman with a black shawl other her head. She immediately caught the attention of the salespeople, who now had another potential customer to pitch their wares to.

The woman approached one of the salespeople.

“What can you get you, my love?” the saleswoman asked in a soft Scottish accent.

“I want to buy Forget.”

“I’ve got Forget, my darling, what strength? How much do you want forgetting?”

“My mother and father went on the motorway,” the woman said, mournfully. Ryan frowned – what was so bad about a motorway? The Doctor caught his eye, and they wandered closer to the exchange.

“Oh, that’s a swine… try this, Forget 43, that’s two credits.” The saleswoman handed over a small, transparent patch in exchange for a couple of coins.

Ryan tapped the woman with the shawl on the shoulder. “’Scuse me, sorry, hope you don’t mind me asking, but… what happened to your parents?”

The woman turned around. “They drove off,” she said, bluntly.

“And you don’t think they’re gonna come back?”

She shook her head. “Everyone goes to the motorway in the end. I’ve lost them.”

“But they can’t have gone far, you could find them,” the Doctor interjected.

The woman considered him for a moment, then moved to press the patch to her neck.

“No, no, don’t!” the Doctor cried. But it was too late. The mood patch took effect instantly, and a serene look came over the woman’s face.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” she asked, her voice lighter.

“Your parents, your mother and father, they’re on the motorway,” the Doctor tried to remind her.

“Are they?” She smiled sweetly. “That’s nice. I’m sorry, I won’t keep you.” She walked away, back in the direction she had come from.

“Bloody hell…” Ryan muttered as soon as she was out of earshot. He had seen people lose everything to drug abuse, but this just seemed so much worse.

He heard a sudden scream from behind and spun around to see that a man had Martha in a headlock and a woman was pointing a gun at himself and the Doctor.

“I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry. We just need three, that’s all,” the man tried to explain as they shuffled backwards towards an open door.

“Let go of her!” Ryan shouted, approaching carefully, cautious of the gun.

“I’m warning you, let her go!” the Doctor yelled. He switched to a calmer demeanour. “Whatever you want, I can help, all of us can help you, but first, you’ve got to let her go!”

“Sorry,” the woman said, a final word before the door slammed shut.

The Doctor darted forwards, wrestling with the doorknob, before switching to his sonic screwdriver. He yanked the door open, and sprinted ahead, Ryan hot on his heels. They ran straight through a corridor, bursting out into a wider street, just to see a New Earth car hover up into the air and shoot off down the street.

“Martha!” they both cried.

***

The Doctor knocked angrily on a one of the salespeople’s green, wooden hatches. It was lifted open by the Scottish-sounding woman, who had a beaming smile on her face.

“Thought you’d come back. D’you want some Happy Happy?”

“Those people, who were they?” the Doctor barked. “Where did they take her?”

“They’ve taken her to the motorway,” piped in the first salesman they had met.

“Looked like carjackers to me,” said the Scottish woman.

“I’d give up now, darlings, you won’t see her again,” added another saleswoman.

“Used to be thriving, this place – you couldn’t move. But they all go to the motorway in the end.”

“He kept on saying three, ‘we need three’. What did he mean, three?” the Doctor demanded.

“It’s the car-sharing policy, to save fuel. You get special access if you’re carrying three adults.”

“So how do we get to this motorway?” Ryan asked.

“Straight down the alley, keep going to the end, you cannae miss it.” The Doctor and Ryan stalked off in the direction she had nodded towards, but the saleswoman wasn’t finished. “Tell you what, buy some Happy Happy, then you’ll be smiling, my loves!”

Ryan twisted around. “Fat fucking chance of that, mate. Now, I don’t know the whole story, but from what I’ve seen, you’re just exploiting the vulnerable, profiting off their misery and desperation. No way I’m supporting you with that.”

The Doctor butted in before anyone could say anything in response. “If you want something from us so badly, here’s a word of advice, all of you. Cash up, close down and pack your bags,” he snarled.

“Why’s that, then?” the Scottish woman asked, bemused.

“Because as soon as we’ve found her alive and well, and we will find her alive and well, then we’re coming back. And this street is closing. Tonight,” the Doctor spat out.

They turned and left down the alley towards the motorway. Ryan’s anger soon mellowed out, but the Doctor was still seething, his jaw tight and his eyes narrowed.

“Doctor.”

The Doctor stopped walking and looked at Ryan expectantly. Ryan took hold of his hands and his features softened.

“It’s not your fault.” The Doctor opened his mouth to argue, but Ryan beat him to it. “Martha just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I know it’s her first time on an alien planet and all, and I am worried, but she’s smart and resourceful. We’ll save her – I know we will.” The Doctor nodded once in response, but didn’t say anything, so Ryan continued. “And we’ll sort out that mood patch stuff, and find out what’s up with this motorway, and sort that out too, yeah?”

“Yeah…” the Doctor breathed out, giving Ryan’s hands a squeeze. Ryan squeezed back, satisfied that the Doctor was calmer, dropping one hand as they continued towards the motorway.

***

At the end of the alleyway, the Doctor opened a door. They stepped out onto a tiny platform and were overwhelmed by the endless lines of cars and the deafening beeping of uncountable horns. The air was thick with exhaust fumes, and they both nearly immediately started coughing, covering their mouths with their hands.

The door slid open on the car adjacent to them, and a person in old-fashioned flying gear called out at them.

“Hey, you daft little streetstruts, what are you doing, standing there?” the (assumed) man yelled, with an Irish accent. “Either get out or get in! Come on!”

The Doctor placed his hand on Ryan’s lower back, pushing him forwards, and they both bounded forwards into the car, and the door slid shut.

“Did you ever see the like?” the man ranted, as a woman offered an oxygen mask, apologising for only having one. The Doctor nodded towards Ryan, unable to speak as he continued to cough. Ryan gratefully took the mask, and forced himself to take deep, slow breaths, feeling the oxygen soothe his burning throat.

“They’re just standing there, breathing it in,” the man continued. He pulled down his scarf and removed his goggles, revealing that he was Catkind. “There’s this story, says back in the old days, on Junction 47, this woman stood in the exhaust fumes for a solid twenty minutes. By the time they found her, her head had swollen to fifty feet.”

The woman scoffed as Ryan passed the mask over to the Doctor. “Oh, you’re making it up.”

“A fifty foot head, just think of it. Imagine picking that nose,” the man slash cat joked as he climbed back into his drivers’ seat.

“Stop it, that’s disgusting!”

“What? Did you never pick your nose?”

The woman swatted his arm. “Bran, we’re moving.”

“Right, I’m there. I’m on it.”

The man slash cat – Bran - took off the handbrake and they drove for barely a few metres before coming to a halt.

“Twenty yards – we’re having a good day.”

Ryan frowned. Twenty yards was considered to be a good day? At that point, he’d just get out and walk.

Bran faced them. “And who might you be, sirs? You’re both very well dressed for hitchhikers.”

“Thank you. I’m Ryan and he’s the Doctor,” Ryan replied, nodding towards the Doctor, who slipped the oxygen mask off.

“Medical man!” the cat exclaimed. “My name’s Thomas Kincaid Brannigan, and this is the bane of my life, the lovely Valerie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Valerie said.

“Likewise,” Ryan replied.

“And that’s the rest of the family behind you,” Brannigan added.

Ryan heard a faint mew as the Doctor drew back a curtain, revealing a litter of kittens.

“Aw, that’s nice,” the Doctor cooed. Ryan inwardly rolled his eyes. So the Doctor didn’t hate cats, but just didn’t like it when they were the ones being complimented and not him. Typical.

Still, the kittens were heart meltingly adorable, and Ryan couldn’t resist petting them. A little grey kitten nudged his palm, and Ryan scooped it up, holding it close to his chest. The Doctor did the same with a black and white kitten, and they turned back to their fellow passengers.

“How old are they?” the Doctor asked.

“Just two months,” Valerie answered, reaching out to stroke the kitten in Ryan’s arms.

“Poor little souls, they’ve never known the ground beneath their paws,” Brannigan said. “Children of the motorway.”

“What, they were born in here?” the Doctor asked.

Valerie shook her head. “We couldn’t stop. We heard there were jobs out in the laundries, on Fire Island, thought we’d take a chance.”

“So you’ve been driving for two months?” Ryan questioned, sharing a look with the Doctor. Neither of them could believe it.

Brannigan chucked. “Do I look like a teenager? We’ve been driving for twelve years now.”

“- I’m sorry?”

“- You what?”

“Yeah, started out as newlyweds. Feels like yesterday,” Brannigan casually continued, as if he hadn’t dropped a massive bombshell.

“Feels like twelve years to me,” Valerie moaned.

Brannigan enthusiastically took her hand. “Ah, sweetheart, but you still love me.” Ryan smiled; they were a lovely couple.

“But twelve years!” the Doctor exclaimed. “How far did you come? Where did you start?”

“Battery Park, five miles back,” Brannigan answered.

“You’ve travelled five miles in twelve years!?”

Ryan took a deep breath. That was less than half a mile every year. He couldn’t do mental maths to save his life, but he reckoned that couldn’t have been much more than a couple of metres on average every day. No wonder twenty yards was considered to be a good day.

“I think they’re a bit slow,” commented Brannigan.

The Doctor turned away to put his kitten down. “Where are you even from?” Valerie asked Ryan.

“We’re just travellers,” he replied.

“But we’ve got to get out,” the Doctor interjected. “Our friend’s in one of these cars – she was taken hostage. We should get back to the TARDIS.”

Hearing the urgency in the Doctor’s voice, Ryan could tell that their departure was imminent, so he put his kitten down as the Doctor slid the door open.

“You’re too late for that, we’ve passed the lay-by,” Brannigan told them. Defeated, the Doctor slid the door shut again. “You’re a passenger now, Sunny Jim.”

“When’s the next lay-by?” the Doctor demanded.

Brannigan winced. “Ooh, about six months.”

Ryan slowly ran his hand up and down on the Doctor’s back. “Is there anyone we can ask for help?” he asked calmly. “Like the police or something?”

“There’s a terminal in the back,” Brannigan told him. “You can try the police.”

Ryan shuffled over to the back of the car; the Doctor close behind him. He pressed a few buttons aimlessly, until the NNYPD logo appeared on the screen. He picked up the radio. “Hello? Police?”

“ _Thank you for your call. You have been placed on hold,_ ” a pre-recorded message told him.

The Doctor grumbled behind him, before reaching into his pocket for his sonic screwdriver. After a few seconds of sonicking, Ryan tried again.

“Hi, we need to talk to the police.”

“ _Thank you for your call. You have been placed on hold._ ”

“Fuck’s sake,” Ryan muttered. “You’re the bloody police!”

“ _Thank you for your call. You have been placed on hold.”_

The Doctor and Ryan scrambled back to the front of the car. “Is there anyone else? I once met the Duke of Manhattan; is there any way of getting through to him?” the Doctor asked.

“Oh now, ain’t you lordly,” Brannigan mocked.

“We’ve gotta find our friend!” the Doctor insisted.

“You can’t make outside calls. The motorway’s completely enclosed,” Valerie said.

“What, so you’re completely alone, and can’t contact anyone else? At all?” Ryan questioned.

“What about other cars?” the Doctor added.

Brannigan nodded. “Well, we’ve got contact with them, yeah. Well, some of them, anyway – they’ve got to be on your friends list.” He started tapping a screen next to his controls. “Now, let’s see, who’s nearby? Ah, the Cassini Sisters!” An image of two elderly women popped up on the screen and he picked up the radio. “Be still your hearts, my handsome girls, it’s Brannigan here.”

“ _Get off the line, Brannigan, you’re a pest and a menace_ ,” an indignant voice replied.

“Come on, now, Sisters, is that any way to talk to an old friend?”

“ _You know full well we’re not sisters, we’re married._ ”

“Ooh, stop that modern talk, I’m an old-fashioned cat.”

Ryan glared at the back of Brannigan’s head, biting his tongue. He’d assumed homophobia wouldn’t be a thing five billion years in the future, but he was seemingly mistaken.

“Now,” Brannigan continued. “I’ve got a couple of hitchhikers here…” he trailed off, and glanced over to the Doctor and Ryan behind him, his eyes flicking between them. The Doctor nodded sharply, deciding he would be the one to talk to the Cassinis. Brannigan understood his silent command. “This one calls himself the Doctor.” He passed the radio over to the Doctor.

“Hello, sorry, we’re looking for someone called Martha Jones; she’s been carjacked. She’s inside one of these vehicles, but I dunno which one.”

“ _Wait a minute,_ ” a different voice came over the radio. “ _Could I ask, what entrance did they use?_ ”

“Where were we?” the Doctor asked quietly.

“Pharmacy Town,” Brannigan answered.

“Pharmacy Town,” the Doctor parroted over the radio. “About twenty minutes ago.”

“ _Let’s have a look…”_

 _“Just my luck, to marry a car spotter…_ ” They all shared a smile at the quip.

 _“In the last half hour, fifty-three new cars joined from the Pharmacy Town junction._ ”

“Anything more specific?” the Doctor asked, his patience wearing thin.

“ _All in good time. Was she carjacked by two people?_ ”

“Yes, she was, yeah.”

“ _There we are. Just one of those cars was destined for the fast lane. That means they had three on board, and the car number is four-six-five-diamond-six._ ”

“That’s it!” the Doctor exclaimed. “So how do we find them?”

“ _Ah now, there, I’m afraid I can’t help._ ”

The Doctor lowered the radio. “Can we call them on this thing? We’ve got their number, diamond-six.”

“Well, not if they’re designated fast lane, it’s a different class,” Brannigan told him.

The radio crackled again. “ _You could try the police._ ”

“They put us on hold,” the Doctor replied.

“ _You’ll have to keep trying. There’s no one else._ ”

That thought was incredibly sobering, and the Doctor uttered a final thanks, before giving the radio back to Brannigan. Ryan grabbed the Doctor’s hand as he lowered it, and rubbed his thumb in an attempt to soothe him.

“Couldn’t we just go down to the fast lane?” Ryan asked. “I mean, we’ve got four adults.”

“Not in a million years,” Brannigan refused.

“She’s alone and she’s lost,” the Doctor argued in a harsh whisper. “She doesn’t even belong on this planet and it’s all my fault. I’m asking you, Brannigan, take us down.”

Valerie put her foot down. “That’s a no, and that’s final. I’m not risking the children down there.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Ryan asked.

“We’re not discussing it. The conversation is closed.”

He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t know if they even knew what it was, but Ryan could tell that Brannigan and Valerie were terrified of whatever was lurking down in the fast lane.

“So we keep on driving,” the Doctor stated aggressively.

“Yes, we do,” Brannigan bluntly confirmed.

“For how long?” the Doctor snapped.

“Till the journey’s end.”

The Doctor grabbed the radio from the dashboard. “Mrs Cassini, this is the Doctor. Tell me, how long have you been driving on the motorway?”

“ _Oh, we were amongst the first. It’s been twenty-three years now._ ”

“But in all that time, have you ever seen a police car?” It fell quiet. Brannigan and Valerie stared at the Doctor in shock.

“ _I’m… not sure._ ”

“Look at your notes. Any police?”

“ _Erm, not as such._ ”

“Or an ambulance? Rescue service? Anything official? Ever?”

“ _I can’t keep a note of everything,_ ” came Mrs Cassini’s indignant reply.

“What if there’s no one out there?” the Doctor hypothesised.

Brannigan snatched the radio back from him. “Stop it! The Cassinis were doing you a favour.”

The Doctor fixed his intense stare on Brannigan. “Someone’s got to ask. ‘Cos you might not talk about it, but it’s there, in your eyes. What if the traffic jam never stops?”

“Doctor…” Ryan muttered, but it was too late. The only time he could remember him being this angry was when Cassandra had taken control of his body, but he only had very vague and hazy memories of that. He was right to be asking about the motorway, but he didn’t need to be potentially unnecessarily fearmongering.

Brannigan sighed and shook his head. “There’s a whole city above – the might city state of New New York. They wouldn’t just leave us.”

“In that case, where are they? Hmm?”

“Doctor! Stop it!” They all stared at Ryan. “We get the point – you’re scaring them!” And me, he thought, but left unsaid.

Before the Doctor could say anything, they heard a jingle coming from the dashboard, and the screen changed to the image of the woman they had seen before, in Pharmacy Town.

“ _This is Sally Calypso, and it’s that time again. The sun is blazing high over the New Atlantic, the perfect setting for the daily contemplation._ ”

“You think you know us so well, Doctor,” Brannigan said lowly. “We’re not abandoned. Not while we have each other.”

“ _This is for all of you out there on the road. We’re so sorry. Drive safe._ ”

A hymn started to play, murmuring comparatively ancient lyrics over the air waves. Brannigan and Valerie sang softly, with the rest of the traffic they could faintly hear singing.

Ryan and the Doctor looked at each other. The Doctor’s eyes had softened, but the rest of his face was unreadable. Ryan nodded towards the back of the car; he felt like he was invading a private moment – even though it seemed everyone on the motorway was singing, it was their moment of peace.

Having walked a few small paces to the back of the car, Ryan wrapped his arms around the Doctor’s waist, pulling him into an embrace. A few seconds later (longer than usual), Ryan felt the Doctor’s arms around his shoulders, and a head resting against his. He drew comforting circles against the Doctor’s back, unsure if he was doing it for his benefit or the Doctor’s.

“I lied to her,” the Doctor muttered. Only then did Ryan notice that the hymn had finished.

“I know.”

The Doctor pulled away to look at Ryan, but left his hands on his shoulders. “Should I have done that? Was that right?”

Ryan blinked mutely. The man with the planet-sized ego was now questioning himself? Ryan assumed the question wasn’t rhetorical and the Doctor actually wanted an answer.

“I think… I think it’s better to consider the long-term consequences of lying, and whether it would be really so bad just to tell the truth in the first place.”

The Doctor’s expression remained mostly impassive, except for the hint of regret.

“It’s not your fault,” Ryan quietly reiterated. The Doctor broke his gaze, turning his attention to the floor. Slipping out of their embrace, the Doctor dropped down, and started sonicking a panel on the floor.

“You’re going down,” Ryan simply stated. In the corner of his eye, he saw that he had caught the attention of Brannigan and Valerie.

The Doctor didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“I’m coming with you.”

The Doctor sighed and stopped sonicking the panel. He stood. “You’re staying here. I don’t know what’s down there, and I need to keep you safe.”

“I’ll be safe with you.”

The Doctor shook his head. “You know I can’t guarantee that.”

Ryan marched the two short steps over to him. “Of course, I know that; I thought we were done with this bullshit! Why do you keep doing this?”

“Because I can’t lose you!” the Doctor yelled.

Silence fell, only punctuated by the occasional beeping of horns from outside. Ryan dropped his gaze, deciding to pick at his cuticles. Cool fingertips grazed his cheek, coming to a stop on his jaw. He looked back up, following the gentle press of the Doctor’s hand on his face.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor murmured, stroking Ryan’s cheekbone with his thumb. Ryan couldn’t help but lean into the Doctor’s touch.

“How’re you gonna deal with the exhaust fumes?” he whispered.

The Doctor scrunched his nose. “I’ll be fine – my lungs can cope better than yours, and if it comes to it, I’ve got my respiratory bypass. Oh!” He grinned madly and slipped out of his coat, presenting it to Ryan. “Look after my coat. I love my coat; Janis Joplin gave me this coat.”

Great. So he could say it to a bloody coat. Ryan sighed and took it.

The Doctor crouched down to the floor again, and opened the panel, revealing the murky air below. He jumped up, and clapped his hands together. “Right, Brannigan, Valerie.” He paused, tugging his ear. “Thank you, I suppose. And I’ll being seeing you later.”

“But you can’t jump!” Valerie exclaimed.

The Doctor ignored her protests, pulling Ryan into a tight hug. “I’ll come back for you,” he murmured into Ryan’s neck. “I’ll always come back for you.” He pulled back, his chocolate brown gaze penetrating deep into Ryan’s. His eyes flicked down to Ryan’s mouth, and for one moment of madness, Ryan thought the Doctor was going to kiss him.

The Doctor grinned boyishly, before scrambling away and readying himself over the open hatch. “I’ll see you later.”

Ryan smiled back. “Not if I see you first.”

He watched as the Doctor dropped down, hanging on the car before landing on the one below. He sonicked its roof, and then disappeared into it.

“He’s completely mad!” Valerie commented, peering over her chair.

“That, and a bit magnificent,” Brannigan added.

Ryan agreed. “He certainly is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are always appreciated :)


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